


Movin' On Up

by GreyGhost



Series: The Dragon's Heart [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 85,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyGhost/pseuds/GreyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madame Vastra embarks on a new career;  Jenny confronts a terrifying truth; cleanliness and confession are good for the body and the spirit; and it's time to say goodbye to the Cheapside Gin Palace in 'Movin' On Up'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretty Clever - Part 1

**Pretty Clever - Part 1**

**Saturday June 25, 1881 – (The Day after ‘The Adventures of the Masked Lady’)**

Saturday is a peculiar day for both Jenny and me. We are both so very… nervous with each other. She spends the morning cleaning ‘The Cheapside Gin Palace’ as usual. I stay close by in case she needs assistance, as she is still experiencing some lingering after effects of the soporific I deployed to render the house servants unconscious during the final raids on the Black Scorpion Tong. We speak very little though. For my part, I have no wish to remind her that she no longer needs my protection from the Black Scorpion Tong. 

The Tong itself is broken, and the Ape who threatened Jenny dealt with. I’d never eaten Chinese before. I found it tasty, and slightly spicy. I added the coins demanded by the Senior Scorpion, and made sure to leave enough of the body that the message so clear that even any Ape who thought my young human an easy target could understand: Paws Off!. 

When she is done with the cleaning, Jenny seems rather lost. There are no criminals to follow, no new notes to copy, no observations to discuss and my little flat is spotlessly clean. She eventually goes up to the roof to practice her knife drills. 

That reminds me that I need to find her a more appropriate weapon. The oversize knife she’d taken as a prize from a dead member of the Black Scorpion Tong is fine for studying basic blade work, but it allows a foe to get far too close to her. Given that most enemies will likely be larger than Jenny, this is not a good idea. She’d improvised with a broom or broom handle as a weapon several times over the last few weeks, but she deserves something better if our classes are to continue. 

That assumes, of course, that Jenny wishes to continue. It dawned on me on yesterday, while Jenny spoke of now being able to venture closer to her old neighbourhood, that she no longer has a reason to stay. A few days after we first met, I suggested that she remain at the Gin Palace so I could protect her until the danger posed by the Scorpions was solved. Now that is done, and perhaps she is tired of sharing a tiny bed in a tiny flat with a large and grumpy lizard woman who always insults Apes, and can barely tell them apart. If that’s so, and she chooses to leave, then the chances that she will continue with our bargain of a class every day is remote. Oh, she might persist for a time, as Jenny seems to appreciate the lessons I teach her, but time and distance will eventually wear her down. For my own part, though I would never admit it to her, her presence here lets me feel just a little less lonely, and I feel very ambivalent about whether I wish to regain my privacy at the cost of her leaving me.

To add to my confusion, I sit staring at an old poster from the 'Monstre Gathering' with its overblown blurb about the main act: "The Amazing Lizard Lady." It's from my first day with Henry Jago's Troupe. It's worn, stained and a bit torn, but I've kept it. On my first day of joining the troupe, after returning to this place and time where I'd caused so much death, I'd acted as a protector of Apes, not as a predator.

Jenny realized yesterday that years ago I’d rescued her from a madman. She was the young monkey that the Doctor and I saved when I’d first joined the troupe. On some level, she’d recognized me, and so had never been terrified of this fierce monster that could easily make a snack of her. And I, in my folly, had decided that I had a new pet. When did my pet start to turn into something more? 

I’ve been so alone these last several years, and the months after I left the troupe were, if not the worst since I awoke, then still decidedly cheerless. Now, however, I have both a student to teach the arts of combat to, and a guide who teaches me about the city and Apes around me. I still don’t like the Apes; they stink too much, and are too loud, but now and then through Jenny I am meeting and interacting with Apes that I can… appreciate. However the hard truth is that I will never think of any of them friends or even equals. They are animals. 

Even Jenny, who I admit I see less and less as a pet every day. 

There was a minute yesterday, when Jenny cupped my cheek and thanked me for saving her life, that I almost believed that someday I might be ready to have an Ape as a friend. Common sense came to my rescue though. Someday she will leave. Very likely that someday will be soon. Losing my clever student will hurt enough. I swear that I will never be that vulnerable to the pain of loss of friends and comrades again.

Besides no Ape could ever come close to my sword sisters; to my clan! There were ties there of blood and pain, and a willingness to defend each other to our last breath that no Ape could ever match. Not even Jenny.

***

Saturday evening find us with a new challenge.

It starts, not surprisingly, with Jenny and our Ape acquaintances: James Thackeray of the Bank of England, Inspector Abernathy of Scotland Yard, and Constable Palmer of the City of London Police. Or rather, it starts with the male Apes; Jenny as usual is just in the right place and time to help them with their problem. Or rather to get into as much mischief as any bored young warrior cadet ever did. 

The males are drinking in the Area behind “The Cheapside Gin Palace” with a new associate; a tall thin Ape with almost no meat on its bones, which smells of ink and paper and sawdust. The Ape is seeking Inspector Abernathy’s assistance with what it describes as a ‘delicate’ problem. It wants help, but keeps insisting that it doesn't want any 'official' intervention. 

I find this a rather foolish approach. If the Ape does not want official intervention, why is it speaking with Abernathy, who despite being a police inspector is, as Jenny says, ‘not the sharpest knife in the drawer?’ 

Jenny, sitting on the stairs (she wisely refuses to go into the Gin Palace in the evenings) overhears the Ape discussing its problem. Personally, I was not paying much attention, having lost the thread of the very convoluted conversation. At one point, Jenny pipes up: “You know, you should ask Madame Vastra for help with that. She could help you solve it; she’s pretty clever.” 

I want to give her a sharp warning hiss, but didn’t dare with several Apes sitting around us. 

“While I admire your enthusiasm,” replies the new Ape, “We need someone who can put together bits and pieces of information, and not be obvious about it. Someone who can either blend in, or whom no one would suspect is investigating.”

“That’s why Madame Vastra could help, sir. She picked up right quick on what was bothering me when we first met,” replies Jenny. “And she helped me when I had to…fetch my copybook and clothes from where I’d left ‘em. She outsmarted some… toughs that were looking for me. Walked us right by them, she did.”

“Now that’s a good idea!” Abernathy says happily. “Respectable widow and her maid visiting the tournament, no one will look twice at that.” Although Thackeray shakes his head at Abernathy, Constable Palmer… is suddenly looking straight at Jenny with narrowed eyes. This Ape I know well enough to guess that he is taking a great deal of interest in what Jenny is saying.

“This ‘salty arms’ thing,” continues Jenny, “Never heard of one of those. You said the Army is involved. Is it like a Navy cutlass drill display? Seen one of those, once.” 

The Ape puffs itself up and declaims, “The Grand Military Tournament and Assault at Arms consists of competitions designed to encourage skill at arms for regular and volunteer members of the Army.” 

“So it’s bigger with lots more displays?” Jenny is trying not to bounce on the stairs. The other Apes shake their heads and chuckle as the Ape deflates. 

I’ve discovered that Jenny is fascinated by weapons. While she has kept her word and never touched my blade, she takes every opportunity to study it when we are training. She’s made a very good sheathe for her knife, and she has somehow managed to capture several knives, which she works on from time to time. She likes to work on modifying them (tinkering with them, she calls it.) I suspect that’s where the sudden enthusiasm for this case comes from. I’m not even certain what the Ape actually wants.

“Yes, it’s much bigger. The scale of this event dwarfs all previous efforts at such displays. The Agricultural Hall in Islington can seat up to 10,000 spectators. Last year in 1880 was our first year and the Tournament ran for six days. The Duke of Cambridge himself gave his permission for the event, on condition that a sum of five hundred pounds should be paid to charity.”

“Charity, Mr Maxwell?” asks Jenny. Trust the girl to actually pay attention to Ape names.

The Ape Maxwell nods. I think that may be Ape for ‘yes.’ “The Duke sponsors ‘The Royal Cambridge Asylum for Soldiers' Widows.’ The Tournament Board now owes it a thousand pounds, five hundred from last year’s tournament, and five hundred from this year’s event.”

“Don’t recall seeing anything in the papers ‘bout any tournament,” says Jenny. “Mind, we weren’t looking for it either.”

I almost smile. Jenny is correct; in the last several weeks we were far more interested in seeing what the newspapers were saying about the so-called “Masked Lady Robberies” than in any advertising for so-called sporting events.

“Several members of the Royal Family came to witness some of the events, and that received some attention from the newspapers,” explains Ape Maxwell. “But we are losing money hand over fist! Someone must be stealing it, but we have no idea who! Worse, as the assistant treasurer, I am responsible for the day-to-day funds. Thackeray here thinks we might have an embezzler. I’ve been over the books, but I can’t find anything wrong! It’s my reputation that will be in tatters at the end of this. Yet the Tournament certainly doesn’t want the attention that the police will bring if they are all over the place, harassing anything that moves. We need some sort of… private investigator.”

“See, that’s where Madame’s perfect,” says Jenny. “In the middle of all those soldiers, everyone’ll think she’s just there for the show!”

“I’m not sure…”

“Let ‘em try sir,” says a surprising voice. Jenny and I both turn towards Constable Palmer. “Madame Vastra’s got fresh eyes at least, and she might see something your men have missed.” He eyes Jenny for a long minute, then he lopsidedly bears of his teeth at her, “And Jenny can handle herself pretty well. If the pair of them get into mischief, she can probably talk her way back out again. Or hit them with a stick if they prove difficult. She won’t let Madame Vastra get hurt.” 

Although I want to protest that it is I who protects my young human, not the other way around, it suddenly occurs to me that Constable Palmer may be close to figuring out just who the Masked Lady robbers really were. That would be a shame, since despite their occasional run-ins, I suspect that Jenny likes him, and the police whistle he gave her as a birthday present helped save her life last week. I would dislike it if anything deadly happened to him. Worse, Jenny would be very unhappy if the deadly thing that happened to him was me. 

I lean over and murmur to Jenny, “Given the week you’ve had, I’m surprised that you have the energy for anything new.” The girl simply bares her teeth at me, which I’ve learned means that she’s happy. 

“Better to be busy than bored, ma’am!” She whispers back. “And we’ll just be in the one building for this, not walking all over half of London.”

Eventually Ape… I mean ‘Mr’ Maxwell decides to let us try. I back up Jenny while she negotiates with him, all the while making it seem like she is doing my bidding, rather like I helped with negotiating her cleaning wages with Mrs Brown. The girl has some interesting skills. In the end, he will reimburse any reasonable expenses and will add an honorarium if we succeed. Jenny calls it a very good start.

***

The next day, after Jenny cleans the Gin Palace in the morning, it takes about twenty minutes of the human clock to travel to the Agricultural Hall in Islington where ‘The Grand Tournament’ is being held. Jenny hails a horse-drawn device that she calls a ‘Hansom Cab’ and the ride is certainly different from walking. I’ve seen them in the streets of course, but never knew you could simply hire them. Of course, before our raids on the Black Scorpions and their banks, I could not afford to do so. Now, Ape currency will not be an issue. I could get use to this, I think. 

Once we arrive, Jenny buys our admissions, carefully noting both cab and admission costs in a little notebook, and then we enter the rather impressive space. The large floor is filled with Apes in various colours of clothing. Although red seems to be the most popular; white, black and even green coats mix together. Shouts and cheers echo through the hall. There are horses as well, some standing quietly, others walking or trotting around with an Ape on their back. The clash of weapons, both steel and wooden, provides a constant background noise. This will take time to sort through, and with the tournament ending in 6 days, time is not something we have much of. 

However, we quickly run into a problem: Jenny cannot concentrate. Her head keeps swivelling back and forth trying to take everything in. For a young human enamoured with weapons, this must be a dream come true, but I’m worried that she’s going to injury herself, trying to see everything at once. 

Here an Ape on horseback is cutting at series of yellow fruit, often missing. There two Apes, their heads encased in cages, are trying to kill each other with swords. Strangely, another Ape in hat and coat is watching them, and when he speaks, they suddenly break off, seem to salute each other and then walk off, talking quietly together. Apes can be very strange.

I, on the other hand, have only the slimmest idea of what the problem is here, and what we need to do. It suddenly occurs to me that letting my young human drag us into this was not a wise choice, and the thought makes me cross.

“Jenny! Pay attention!” 

The girl startles, and snaps to a sort of attention, hands at her sides, back straight and eyes looking up at me.

“What exactly are we doing here?” I hiss.

“Finding out what’s going on, and watching out for thieves,” replies Jenny. “You heard Mr Maxwell, the Tournament’s losing money.”

“Losing money? How? Isn’t it locked up?”

“Well, yes, suppose so.”

“It’s very careless of them just to lose money like that! Mind you, Ape money is very confusing. Have they misplaced it?”

Jenny sighs, and gives me a look that she often follows up with the words ‘You’re daft.’ Instead she simply says, “Mr Maxwell said that the men running it took a big loss last year, and they changed things to make it better and make more money, but there are some very powerful men who aren’t very happy. Like a Duke or Two, and I think I heard the Prince of Wales mentioned. The men on what he called the Board of Governors has done some work themselves, and can’t find anything wrong with the numbers. All the ticket sales seem to be recorded, and the amounts spent for pro..pro… food for the horses and supplies and such. What he’s wants us to do is take a good look around. You see things that lots of people don’t.”

“But I know nothing about running an event such as this, or about money.”

“That’s what you have me for. To help you.” 

She has such boundless confidence, even after everything that’s happened to her. And, I suddenly realize, so much confidence in me. This time though I fear Jenny’s bitten off far more than either of us can chew.

***

We do look around a bit, but Jenny is still very distracted, and I admit that even I am interested in what is going on in the arena itself. It eventually occurs to me that the wisest course for now is to watch the Ape displays. This will let Jenny see what is going on, and calm her down, and let me get an idea of what is distracting, but not actually useful information. From there, I can plan our best strategy. With that decision made, I tell Jenny to find us seats, and we will watch the events for a while.

We sit and watch for a few hours. Jenny soon settles down, and after a short time is asking my opinion on some of the sword work and weaponry. Shortly after that, Jenny starts observing; both the events and the people. I make a note for myself: if possible, it is wiser to let Jenny ‘drink her fill’ of distracting information then to try to keep her under a tight leash. She is still very young, for either an Ape or a warrior cadet. 

***

After a while, I remark to Jenny, “At first I thought this Assault at Arms was a kind of ritualized Ape slaughter, but I’m beginning to recognize that these are drills and competitions. My people’s warriors held similar competitions, although obviously at a much more substantial level.”

“Sub…?”

“Important, or perhaps momentous is the correct word. Warriors from all over would compete.”

“More warriors?”

“Oh, yes. A much bigger arena and our warriors could perform feats of endurance, speed and strength that would amaze you.”

“Hmmm, so we’re talking bigger, faster, longer and stronger, right?”

There’s something in Jenny’s tone that tells me she’s amused. I look closely at her, but just the corner of her mouth is upturned on one side. I suspect that she may believe that I am overstating the memories of my past.

Or to put it in the vernacular of my former troupe, ‘Jenny isn’t buying what I’m selling.’

I huff, rather put out that my human is teasing me. Again.

Beside me, Jenny bares her teeth in what she calls a ‘grin,’ and settles back to watch the show.

**

Eventually I notice that although the hall is very large the audience fills less than one quarter of it. 

“Jenny, remind me, how many A… people, can fit in here?” 

She cocks her head for a moment, and then looks at me. “Last night Mr Maxwell said the hall could hold 10,000 people.” 

“Very good. Make a note of that.” Jenny bobs her head and writes in her little book. “And make a note for me to ask what the daily attendance is.”

“Does seem awfully empty don’t it?” Jenny says, looking around. “Strange, things are usually busy on Sunday afternoon at shows like this.” 

I agree. When I was still with the ‘Monstre Gathering’, the days the Apes refer to as Saturdays and especially Sunday afternoons were our busy times. 

However, the spread out audience makes it easier for me to look around and observe the Apes. I can see groups of them scattered around, some with hatchlings, many without. Here and there an Ape sits alone, but mostly they are in pairs or more. 

The Apes are so very different from my people. We are far less social creatures, preferring our own space. Even the idea of a family such as Jenny had, with parents, is almost alien to me. Our nest mates were our family, my sisters and brother. The records would show who laid our eggs, but for the most part, we raised ourselves for the first two years. Those that survived where then taken into the appropriate schools. Didn’t that make more sense than the way helpless young Apes depend on adults for their survival?

***

Nearby, three Apes, all dressed in green coats, are also watching the competitions. Their clothing is the same colour as some of the warriors, but the style is different. Because of a bend in the seating they are almost at a right angle to us. Two sit together, leaning back stiffly in their chairs, but the drooping head of one betrays their boredom. The fur on their heads and faces is dusted with grey. Behind them and to their right, the third Ape sits more at ease, his legs propped up on the back of the empty seat in front of him. It is keenly watching the competitions, and between the bouts, watching the audience. From time to time, it glances over at us, watching Jenny watch the competitions. It glances at me a time or two, but quickly moves on. Time after time though, I see its eyes returning to watch Jenny.

I suspect that I might not like this Ape. I have taken care of the Black Scorpions who threatened her; a lone Ape will be no challenge at all. 

Idly, I wonder what he will taste like.

***

We spend the afternoon watching competition after competition. After a while, it becomes rather repetitive and numbing. Towards evening, there are some displays of the so called ‘prowess’ of the Military Apes, including a race between two cannons pulled by horses, which are then set up and fired by their crews. That is a bit more interesting, but when the evening ends and we return to my flat, even Jenny is yawning. A cup of tea revives us both, while Jenny starts a new page her notebook and we spend a pleasant hour discussing what we have learned so far as she writes down our notes.

***

On Monday, we return to the Agricultural Hall, and visit Mr Maxwell in his office. Yesterday I looked at the public face of the Tournament, today Jenny and I will look behind the façade. And if the problem is monetary, then the best course of action is to look at the Tournaments financial records. 

Jenny and I discussed this over breakfast, so I’m ready when I see Mr Maxwell. I ask for the books for both 1880 and this year, as they stand so far. 

And then we run into a difficulty. Mr Maxwell wants to explain them to me in detail, and suggests that Jenny would enjoy the tournament more than listening to the adults. The truth, of course, is that Jenny understands Ape finances at least a little bit better than I do. Jenny, however is equal to the threat, and huffs something about ‘not leaving Madame and Mr Maxwell alone, as their reputations would both suffer.’ She’s staring down Mr Maxwell as she says this; I suspect he may have suggested something slightly improper in Ape society.

Once Mr Maxwell finishes his explanations, I ask for quiet to review the books and he leaves. Jenny then looks over them carefully, but cannot find any problems. The amount recorded for ticket sales is correct, so long as the number of tickets is right. Mr Maxwell explained how they track the tickets, and Jenny can find no discrepancy.

“Not that I expected to find much wrong, Ma’am,” Jenny explains, “seeing as Mr Maxwell said his men had been over the books with a fine tooth comb.”

I make a note to myself to ask Jenny later why the Apes would use a grooming implement to review a book of financial records.

“Even with that book Mr Thackeray gave me as a birthday present, I’m just a beginner at this. Now mind,” Jenny continues, “There’s other ways to steal than just taking money. Those horses need to eat, and men are paid to clean up at night, and do other work, and there are supplies to be bought. Add a bit to any of those, and the money will walk out o’ here , and no one would be the wiser.”

“If someone is stealing goods, they’ll be both harder and easier to catch. Harder because we need to discover what is being stolen, and easier because the goods will most likely be larger and heavier than cash, so they should be more visible,” I continue for her. “Very well. I believe we will spend the afternoon examining in the hall in more detail, and chatting with the performers.”

“The soldiers, ma’am. They’re all soldiers, ‘member?”

I nod, and lead Jenny back to the arena. These Apes only barely deserve the name soldier. And they most certainly are not the equal of my warriors!

***

There are even fewer people in the arena today; I notice that the Apes in green jackets are missing. We take seats in the front row, close to an exit so we can watch the Apes walk in and out, and listen to their conversations.

There are a variety of eliminating rounds in events such as "sword vs. bayonet", "lance vs. bayonet" and "tilting the ring" being fought. I studied the groups for a few minutes, but soon found myself losing interest. It was time to determine our next steps.

It did not take me long to come to the conclusion that we would not learn much of use while sitting around just watching the show. That was fine yesterday as a foundation on which to build our investigation, but today we would need more direct measures.

While I considered our next course of action, the Apes in green jackets came in and sat down. Both of the older Apes were back, as well as the one who immediately propped his legs up on a nearby seat, taking his ease.

“Jenny, those… humans wearing green nearby. What can you tell me about them?”

Jenny glances over at the men, and then looks away after a minute.

“They were here yesterday. Look like they might be officers or senior rates, least the ones in front do. Older men and all stiff. Seen men like them strutting around the Tower, near the family flat. The other one, he’s too relaxed. He’s not in the army anymore, and he’s happy not to be. Surprised they have anything to do with each other. They aren’t wearing uniforms though…might be old soldiers that have left the army.”

I nod. That tells me a little but not as much as I hoped.

An interesting competition starts in the area; an Ape on a horse jumps over hurdles, and then finally tries to cut a head from a post after the last hurdle. I watch for a while, there is a degree of skill involved that makes the display rather interesting. Some men hit, others miss. It’s not an easy game.

After a while, I look back at the three Apes in green jackets, and discover a problem. There is no sign of the one who had been lounging in his seat. Instead, the two older ones are now sitting up straight, staring at Jenny and me. No, not at us. At something behind us.

I glance back cautiously, and see the third Ape sliding into a seat two rows behind us. Up close I can see that the fur on its head fur is dark , without the grey of its companions, and it has no fur on its face. It smells of soap and sulphur, of pipe smoke and beer. 

I really do not like it right now.

I turn and face it directly. “What do you want?”

“Just curious Ma’am,” it replies.

“Curious?”

“Well, there’s not a lot of widow’s and their children here, you see,” said the Ape.

I risk a glance around. It is correct; while I can see many Apes, there are few dressed in the same way as Jenny and me. I curse in my head. I really must sit down with Jenny and review how to tell Apes apart!

“So I’m guessing that you’re most likely a soldier’s widow,” the Ape continues, “with a soldier’s orphan. So I thought I’d be polite and say hello.”

Beside me, Jenny shakes her head. “I’m not a soldier’s child, sir. I’m Madame’s maid.” ‘Sir,’ ah, then it’s a male! 

“I see.” The Ape replies. “My mistake and I’m sorry. At home, there are lots of widows and orphans, even now. The war was hard on everyone.”

It raised its head looking past us to the arena. “My apologies. I thought you must have had family in the army, seeing as you’re here at an event that’s pretty much one big yawn. Too bad, that. Your British army men are all-fired up for it, but the audience’s been like this all week, not many folks are coming out to see the show.”

Jenny looked back at him sharply. “You’re not British then sir?”

The Ape bared his teeth widely and shook his head. “No, miss. I’m an American. John Taylor, late of the 2nd United States Sharpshooters.” He held out his hand, and Jenny, after a moment of surprise, shook it. I was surprised as well; most male Apes bow to females instead of shaking hands, and Jenny is often simply ignored. It looks the same as the others, I wonder what makes the American a different species of Ape?

“You said the army was ‘fired-up’ for the tournament?” I asked, trying out the unfamiliar expression.

“Yes, Ma’am! More than two hundred officers and men are taking part I’m told, and most of ‘em are competing in six, seven or even eight events. And that’s not including the team trials. That’s why this Tournament’s running for two weeks straight. Last year it was only six days long.”

A gruff voice interrupts the ‘American.’ 

“Madame, forgive me, but is this man bothering you?” The speaker is the stiffer of the Green Apes. He and his companion have arrived, perhaps to ‘rescue’ us, and he seems angry. His bearing is as straight as Constable Palmer’s, and he smells of polish and starch, but there is something else. Jenny is watching him carefully, in the same way she watched Mr Dawes when they first met. Polite but wary. I really must ask her what she is reacting to when she does that.

“Not as much as I first thought he would,” I answer. All the Apes look at me quickly. Jenny has that little lip curl to one side she gets that means I’ve amused her. “Mr Taylor is answering some questions I have about the... tournament.”

“And no doubt telling you a lot of nonsense. Private Taylor, you should not be disturbing the ladies. Your wild American ways have no place among respectable people.”

“Right, ‘cause you Canadians are so much more civilized. Don’t mind him, Ma’am, he’s always testy with me ‘cause he once traded pot shots with some Irish Americans veterans, and lost. ”

“Taylor, enough! You too please, Captain Simundson, sir. I doubt the ladies are interested in the two of you refighting minor border skirmishes from the colonies.” The third Ape ignored the other two while they sputtered away behind him. Jenny was trying not to bounce again, and I thought she was trying not to laugh.

I have so much trouble with Ape faces and bodies, but I understand Jenny a little bit better than most Apes. She is amused, and doesn’t seem overly worried by these Apes, although she is wary of the one.

I take a deep breath, trying to decide what to say, and smell something different.

Gunpowder, I realise. They all smell of gunpowder. And oil! These three men all fire weapons, possibly every day.

“Who are you?” I ask, my glance taking in all three. “You’re not dressed like the soldiers,” I nod at the Arena, “but you use ranks and seem to have military experience.”

“We’re members of a shooting club, ma’am. We’re all former sharpshooters, you see. Best of the best! That’s why the green jackets!” That was the Ape called Taylor again.

“For Heaven’s sake, man, show some respect for the lady!” That is the Ape called Captain Simundson again.

“Enough! Sirs, either be so kind as to introduce yourselves properly to me mistress, or go away!” That of course, was Jenny. They quiet down, strange almost pained looks on their ugly faces, and then the third Ape nods his head.

“That was poorly done of us. Ahhh…” he looks lost for a moment. Jenny comes to his rescue. She gestures at the stiffer Ape.

“Madame Vastra, allow me to introduce you to Captain Simundson.” After he bows, she continues, “Captain Simundson is from Canada… ” Jenny waits for him to continue.

“Captain Erik Simundson, Madame, late of the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada. Please forgive the strange introductions.” He gestures at his companions. “May I introduce Sergeant William Parker, late of the Prince Consort’s Own Rifle Brigade,” and the second older Ape bows, “and your rude intruder is Private John Taylor from America.” Even I can tell that casual introduction was an insult to Private Taylor. He on the other hand bows formally, followed by baring his teeth in a ‘grin’. 

“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

I nod slowly to the Apes, then turn and simply say “Well done, Jenny.” I catch her curtsey out of the corner of my eye as I turn back to the males. “Miss Flint and I are pleased to meet you.” 

While Simundson and Parker look surprised, Taylor winks at me, and ‘grins’ at Jenny. “Pleased to meet you too, Miss Flint.” He says, bobbing his head.

Hmmm. This one may recognize that I hold Jenny as equal to the other Apes despite her youth. Perhaps I won’t eat him after all.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  
> In 1880 the Grand Tournament and Assault at Arms debuted in London and ran again in 1881. In order not to spoil the story, more information will be in the Author's Notes for the next chapter.
> 
> The Prince Consort's Own Rifle Brigade served in the Crimean War in 1853.
> 
> The 2nd United States Sharpshooters (one of two regiments collectively known as “The Berdans”) were some of the most famous sharpshooters of the American Civil War (1861-1865, also known as the War of the Rebellion.) They fought on the side of the Union (The North) and came from several different states. Company B was predominantly from Michigan. There is a John Taylor listed as a member of the regiment in the U.S. National Parks Service Civil War Soldier and Sailor Database, but there is almost no information on him. Even his company is unknown.
> 
> I’ll spare you long notes on The Fenian Invasion of Canada in 1866, The Battle of Ridgeway and The Queens Own Rifles of Canada that Captain Simundson was involved in. Short version: the Canadians finally repulsed the invaders, the Government of the United States was annoyed and embarrassed by the Irish-American troublemakers, and the raids had a huge influence on the eventual confederation of Canada in 1867.


	2. – Pretty Clever (Part Two) (Late June 1881)

The Ape who calls itself ‘Captain Simundson’ glares at ‘Private Taylor,’ and then turns back to me, his face smoothing out. “If you are interested in the Tournament, Madame, Sergeant Parker or I would be better guides this… American. He’s hardly an expert on The British Army!” 

“Are they like this all the time?” Jenny whispers to the third Ape, who has identified itself as ‘Sergeant Parker.’

“Yes, yes they are,” Parker sighs. “Often I think the Colonel; that’s our club president, Colonel Lethbridge you see; I think he lets them both stay just for the ‘Punch and Judy’ show they do whenever they meet.”

Ignoring the others, Simundson offers me his elbow. I hesitate a moment, but remember seeing Apes strolling like this. I rise and take it with a light touch of my hand. I dislike touching most Apes, or being too close to them, but I will bear it this once if we can gain more clues.

“Your offer of information is quite welcome…um… Captain Simundson,” I try being… polite. The Ape bares his teeth at me, and I remind myself that this is considered a ‘friendly’ gesture. Not a reason to kill him. Simundson starts walking and I move along with him, listening as he starts to point out and explain the events going on in the arena.

“So what was all that about sharpshooters and green jackets?” I hear Jenny ask the Apes behind us.

While Simundson points out trivial details that I’ve already noticed, I overhear bits and pieces of Jenny’s conversation with the other two Apes. They are all members of an ‘elite rifle club’ comprised of former riflemen and sharpshooters, which are apparently specialized types of warriors. They are quite proud of this, and claim that despite belonging to different armies, their military uniforms were mostly green, (a crude attempt at basic camouflage, I surmise,) and members of their club now wear green jackets when at events such as this. I am proud to ‘wear’ green as well. No doubt my green-scaled sword sisters would slaughter these ‘elite’ Apes while they were still trying to load their weapons.

I return my attention to Simundson. It is pointing out some of the Apes and horses going through their competitions. One mounted Ape with a sword is attacking an Ape which is on foot, armed with a firearm with a long blade attached. ‘Sword versus Bayonet’ is what Simundson calls it, and the dismounted Ape is defending itself fairly well.

“Those aren’t real swords, are they?” I hear Jenny whisper to the others.

“Naw, the cavalryman’s using a single-stick, and the infantryman’s got a wooden rifle and bayonet. They can still get plenty hurt, but aren’t too likely to be killed.” I believe that was Taylor’s voice, slightly higher than the others, though lower than Jenny’s or mine.

“Don’t get much chance to just watch horses, usually if I’m close to them in the street, they’re moving fast and I’m getting out of the way,” Jenny says. 

“I agree,” I join in. “It’s interesting to see the horses working this way.”

“Well now, if you want to know about horses,” says Simundson, “Sergeant Parker here is your man! He owns a small livery stable over near Ludgate Hill Station. He hires out cabs and carriages and is an excellent driver himself.”

“That’s rather close to us is it not?” I glance at Jenny for confirmation.

“Yes ma’am. West of St. Paul’s Cathedral, though we’re a bit east of St. Mary Le Bow’s Church.” 

I think St. Paul’s is the very large building near the bookshops. I must get Jenny into the habit of using street names; I am not familiar with many of the buildings that she refers to.

“Like how the horse seems to be trying to help his master. But in a real fight, wouldn’t it just ride right over that man on foot?” asks Jenny.

“In a real fight, the man on the ground would be trying to gut… hurt the horse. Then take out the rider afterwards. The horse is a bigger target, you see,” responds Taylor. Simundson barks at him again, but Taylor-ape snarls back and retires slightly. However the information is interesting; I can almost see Jenny making a note in her head.

For several minutes, Parker patiently answers simple inquiries from both of Jenny and me. I try not to ask too many questions, but listen to Jenny’s instead; an adult female Ape of this time would very likely know far more than I do about horses, and I do not wish to appear ignorant. Idly I wonder what horsemeat tastes like, and if the Apes eat it very often.

***

After a short while, I enquire about making our way to the staging area of the tournament. The seats are far too public; anything criminal is unlikely to be out on full display. Simundson however, is an unexpected obstacle to that plan. 

“Well upon my word! Of course not, Madame!” It shakes its head “I’m sorry but going behind the scenes is out of the question. It’s rather rough back there you see. It’s full of common soldiers and horses and no gentlewoman should have anything to do with it. A great deal of the talk, well, it’s not really fit for ladies ears, Madame.” I almost hiss in annoyance. I can do very little more out here. I need to get… backstage… as my troupe use to say.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jenny pick up a discarded sheet of paper from one of the seats. She examines it, and turns to Parker with a question pointing to something on the paper. I listen with some interest; Jenny is asking about another event with swords.

Simundson glances back at Jenny, and I can hear surprise in his voice when it asks, “She can read?” 

“Why, yes, of course. Not well, mind you, complex words still give her trouble, but she is improving. And she can write fairly well. Well, print I suppose you would call it. I must encourage her to do something about that, to make sure she learns proper handwriting. Her mother wrote very clearly.” I think of the lovely writing in the front of Jenny’s school copybook.

Simundson makes the noise that Jenny calls a ‘laugh.’ My people do the same of course, but we are never so noisy about it! The Apes sometimes sound closer to horses than civilized beings! “She doesn’t seem the type to sit still for long,” it continues. 

I feel myself coiling inside, ready to lash out at the foolish Ape. “It is not difficult to get her to concentrate. I encourage her to pick the subject matter, and she shows an aptitude for math and accounts, maps, weaponry of course, and even basic science. Why, just last week we were on Paternoster Row to buy a map, and Jenny found a battered copy of a simple book on Natural Sciences by … Comstock, I believe.”

“Waste of time for women of her class to learn much. Be able to read and write enough to keep the household account certainly, but beyond that, what good is it for?”

I’m almost about to bite his head off, verbally at least, when his name is called by a group of nearby Apes. A quick bow and he leaves. I give a very improper snort. 

“I’ve heard of Comstock,” a new voice breaks into my dark thought. I look over and ‘Private’ Taylor continues quietly, “He was an American doctor who wrote many books on science.”

“Was he? I will tell Jenny. The point that… ‘Captain’ Simundson missed is that because she likes the subjects she studies, Jenny is learning very quickly. I do not consider that a waste of time. She is quite clever.” I refrain from adding…’for a young Ape.’ Instead I cock my head, hissing slightly at Taylor. “You seem very interested in her.”

The Taylor Ape shrugs its shoulders, and glances at Jenny. “It’s just that…she reminds me of… someone I once knew a long time; all curiosity and energy. A young girl who loved learning new things, loved to learn from people, wanted to know how to defend herself, with or without weapons. Loved watching the soldiers and learning how to shoot.” The Ape continues to watch Jenny.

“What happened to your girl?” I ask.

Taylor shakes its head from side to side. “The War of the Rebellion happened, ma’am. And anyone who ever had a romantic notion about fighting or war had it knocked out of them pretty fast. But they’ll forget. They always forget. That’s just… well… human nature, I guess.” 

I scoff to myself that ‘human nature’ is not a subject that interests me very much. At least, not generally, I admit, as I turn to watch Jenny chatting with Parker. 

Although we remain for a while at ringside, observing as much as possible, I gather only a little more information, and eventually we return to my flat for Jenny to update our notes and for me to plan my next line of attack. 

***  
On Tuesday Jenny suggests that if the soldiers ‘don’t think that behind the scenes is any place for a lady’, then it’s time for a ‘young man’ to go have a look instead. Although I protest that neither her friend Tom nor George the grocer’s delivery boy are likely available at short notice, Jenny simply shoos me out of the room, and tells me she’ll meet me downstairs. Shortly afterwards we depart as usual in a Hansom Cab. When we arrive near as the Agricultural Hall we disembark, she ducks into a nearby alley and a minute later a familiar young Ape emerges, in trousers and cap, no doubt with a skirt folded neatly into its satchel. Once again I am torn between amusement and surprise at Jenny’s approach to solving the problem. 

“Ah, of course. Though I don’t understand: I know I have trouble telling…humans apart, but won’t the soldiers simply look at you and know that you are female?”

“Likely not. People see what they expect to see. Around all these soldiers, if they see a person my age wearing trousers, why I’m a boy, of course. They’d never think that a thirteen year old girl would be brave enough to wear anything but skirts.” 

“And if you’re caught?”

“They’ll think I’m just out for a lark; being cheeky and trying to see more of the show. Bit different from having the locals see me when Constable Palmer was looking for the bank robber the papers called The Masked Lady. Bet he still thinks that was a man.” She grins, and then her face smooths out, and she sounds serious. “Promise that if there’s any bother, I’ll get out right quick. If there’s trouble, I’ll call real loud for you.”

“If there’s trouble, use your whistle. It sounds different from the ones the judges are using, and I will hear it better. I don’t have your sharp ears!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” and off she goes. 

***

I glide around the edges of the arena as much as I can, listening to conversations and complaints from both the soldiers and the audience. I keep hearing certain words: ‘skilful’, ‘challenging’, ‘exciting’, ‘interesting’. But I hear other as well; ‘yet another bout,’ ‘aren’t they done yet’, and occasionally the phrase… ‘too long’. I see several Apes sketching in the stands; they are the ones who seem to pay the closest attention. 

Eventually one of the Apes in green jackets arrives. It sees me from across the floor of the arena and circles around to greet me. 

“Nice to see you again, Madame Vastra. ‘though I’m also a bit surprised. The show seems a bit dull to bring a civilian back to it for several days.”

Which one is this? I’m fairly sure it’s not Taylor, it’s too stiff. What did the other too call themselves? Simons and ssss… Parks? I bow slightly in greeting, hoping that I’ll remember. Ape names are so very strange. “Although I am not a ‘soldier’s widow’, I have very strong connections to the military. My clan is justly proud of our many warriors.” 

The Ape nods. “Scottish then, are you? Thought I heard a bit of a lilt in your voice.” It looked around. “Are you unaccompanied, milady? Don’t see your young maid around.”

“Jenny is presently engaged in other duties.” I decide not to correct him about my origins. Perhaps they will believe me to be a Scottish from Russia!

This Ape is polite and respectful. “I know you hoped to see a bit ‘behind the scenes’ as it were milady, even if the Captain did turn up stiff at the thought. Come on, we’ll just pop round to near the exit, and see what we can see. Might get lucky and see few of the horse and men competitions.” Ah, so this is the Horse Ape! Excellent, it was fairly intelligent. Parker! Sergeant Parker that was its name. I thank it by name and it seems pleased to be remembered. It escorts me over to the main entrance from the staging area. 

I spend an interesting morning and early afternoon with Parker, both watching and listening. The games are held in different sections of the arena field. I notice, however, that in several cases it takes two to three hours to run through the entire list of challengers in a single event. In one case, there were so many Apes playing that it takes almost four hours of bout after bout for a winner to finally emerge!

Interspersed, Parker tells me bits about its time in the military, which was an impressive (for an Ape) twenty-one years, followed by a dozen years in its own business. I was not aware that Apes could live so long! Parker’s experience as a soldier included fighting someplace it calls ‘the Crimea’, which I notice it mentions, but doesn’t talk about very much. I suddenly feel a strange sympathy for it; I remember military campaigns that I would far rather forget as well.

Parker is also able to tell me quite a bit about the horses we see. After one of the bouts, it retrieves a Corporal from a horse regiment (which Parker calls ‘Cavalry’) and I learn far more about all things Horse than I may ever need to know. I notice, however, that I am still not allowed ‘backstage’ as it were; whenever we approach, we are turned away. Apparently more than a few Apes are certain that it is ‘no place for a lady.’

I wonder how Jenny is getting along.

***

From time to time I catch a glimpse of young monkeys through the entrance to backstage. Occasionally I think I see Jenny.

Later in the afternoon, Taylor arrives. It greets Parker and me, and immediately looks around. 

“The Captain’s at his club, and the maid’s on other errands,” explains Parker. Very good, it was paying attention! Taylor gives Parker a narrow-eyed look that I cannot understand. Honestly, I must get Jenny to teach me how to ready humans better! “How did your practice go?”

“Pretty well,” responds Taylor. “I’ll be in top shape for the Wimbleton competition!”

I cock my head in confusion, and Parker explains that there is a shooting competition in south London in a few weeks’ time, and their club is competing. Jenny might like to see that, and it would give me a chance to evaluate this time-periods weaponry more accurately. 

Just then, something ‘backstage’ catches Taylor’s attention. “Oh for Pete’s sake!” It turns back to us, and bows quickly, catching my eye and scrunching up its face. And then Taylor is off, as if it cannot bear to look at us anymore. 

Or as if something more interesting has caught its eye. I risk a glance after Taylor, and then beyond, while Parker grumbles about Taylor’s ‘rudeness.’

As I guessed, a disguised Jenny is nearby, surrounded by several young monkeys and soldiers while speaking with another Ape. I’m very tempted to forcibly stop Taylor, but before I can even move, it sits down on a nearby bench where it can see Jenny, but not close enough to interfere with what she is doing.

Is Taylor trying to… protect her from the other Apes? 

That is my responsibility! I may hurt Taylor yet if I need to make it understand that!.

***

Later I see more hatchlings surrounding several larger Apes in a corner of the Arena, all chattering away. I point them out to Parker, and we stroll over to take a look at the excitement. Jenny is among the group. The larger Apes have sword-like things and are showing them to the hatchlings, demonstrating simple blocks and strikes.

“They’re introducing the boys to a bit of single-stick fighting, ma’am. Good, that will keep their interest up.”

“Single-sticks? You mentioned those yesterday, the horse-soldier was using one.”

“They’re a wooden sword with a leather basket hilt to protect the hand. They're wonderful for practicing fighting. There’s no single-stick only competitions here this year but some of the lads would like to have events for them in the future.”

I feel another Ape approach me, and turn to find Taylor on my other side, watching the group keenly. This proves fortunate, as a number of other Apes are drifting over to watch, but since I am flanked by Parker and Taylor, none of them attempt to bother me.

Eventually, a small monkey is given a padded coat, a cage for its head, and a sword, and then one of the larger Apes takes it through a few gentle hits and blocks. I start to understand; this is a basic lesson in fighting with the sword -sticks. Jenny is watching and listening closely; I’m proud that she isn’t diving right in and showing off, but instead is taking the opportunity to look for differences from what I have taught her. She asks a few questions quietly of the Apes, and they are no doubt intelligent questions; Jenny already knows some basics after months of daily practice. 

Perhaps these ‘Single-sticks’ would be a good weapon for Jenny to learn for her next step in blade work. 

The demonstration carries on. When Jenny is chosen to participate, she acquits herself very well against a larger opponent, and ‘wins’ the bout, to the surprise of many in the crowd. “That little one’s a natural,” says Parker. I shake my head; the larger Ape wasn’t trying very hard, and seemed more amused than hostile. Still, Jenny was obviously making use of her lessons. 

Taylor looks over at me and growls quietly, “That little one’s had training; s... he’s got a good guard, and takes control of the bout. Seems to be use to fighting a taller opponent, too.” It glances up and down my tall form, but says nothing more, and turns back to watch.

It’s almost a pity that I have set rules for myself about who I can eat, or Taylor would definitely be back on my dinner list again. 

***

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful. Before the evening games begin, Jenny ‘the male ape’ slips out of the hall and Jenny ‘the maid’ walks back in, finds me, and takes a seat.

“What have you learned?” I ask.

“That three different recruiting sergeants think I should sign up for good wages and adventure as soon as I turn fourteen. One was even willing to take me on now, and lie on the papers. Mind you, I’m sure they’ll sing a different tune when they catch on that I’m a girl.”

“Why would they sing… Wait, do you mean that all these Apes are male?” I look around in surprise. “But females are better warriors… they are both more aggressive and have a far superior instinct to protect both individuals and society!”

“No ma’am, soldiers are always men! Well, almost always. Heard a story once about a French girl who dressed as a soldier and won a bunch of battles, but she was killed for it.” Jenny shakes her head. “Told Ma I’d like to be a soldier once. Got cuffed by her for that one. Never saw her so mad.”

“I was a Warrior, and eventually a Scientist as well. These are both common among my people. Apes are very strange.”

“Never heard of a woman being a scientist!” Jenny shrugs, “Well that was then. Today it was grand to just chat with the soldiers about this and that. They mostly talked about weapons and horses and techniques and such. Also lot’s of ‘God’s truth, there I was...’ stories. And a fair bit of coarse talk as well. But the dockworkers are pretty rough too, and I’ve heard worse. Well, as much of it as I understood.” 

“What do they think of this tournament?”

“They love it, and lots of fellows want to hold competitions in their regiments next year to get better for it. But they’re worried about the small turnout, and hope the show doesn’t disappear. They’ve heard rumours, you see, that it’s not doing so well.” 

I think about this for a moment, and then ask, “Did you hear anything else that may be relevant?” 

Jenny nods. “After a while I sat back in a quiet corner and just listened until I heard someone fussing about the price of hay and oats for the horses. Found a starchy little quartermaster who was happy to have someone to spout off to once he got wound up about how much everything costs! He was the only person I heard mention anything about theft.”  
“Indeed?” 

“Kept saying that the men and horses were being robbed. Not sure if he was telling the truth, or just blowing hot air.”

“Blowing…?”

Jenny sighs, “Spouting off?” I cock my head. “Ummm… ranting?”

“Ah! Expressing his frustration?”

“That sounds about right.” 

“I still would prefer to go backstage and look around. It’s annoying how protective these A..men are.” 

“Thought you might say that.” Jenny pulls out her little notebook. “Here, I made a map of what’s back there.”

We spend another hour reviewing, as Jenny uses the map to describe the wooden underpinnings of our seats, and the network of hallways, stalls, and storage rooms beneath us. We finish off by watching the early evening events, including a display of cutlass drill which we both enjoy. However I am not sure we have advanced much on our investigations. 

***

We return to the Gin Palace to find what Jenny jokingly refers to as ‘the usual suspects’ drinking in the back and waiting for us. Thackeray and Abernathy are chatting with Mr Maxwell. I give them a short update, and then Jenny coughs a little and gently asks Mr Maxell, “Sir, you.. well I mean the Tournament, it didn’t have fall in with the ‘cent per centers,’ did it?”  
I think Jenny surprised him: Maxwell sputters…. “NO! Absolutely not! Of all the impertinent…” Watching his expressions is very amusing. 

“It’s a very intelligent question sir,” puts in a new voice. Constable Palmer strolls into the back Area and nods at Jenny. “The Scorpions acted as money lenders, and charged sharp rates backed up with blades. ‘Member hearing that at a briefing we had. Smart to ask if that’s the case here.”

Jenny shrugs and turns back to Maxwell. “It’s just, well, the Tournament seems to be spending an awful lot of money. The hall must cost a fair bit, and there’s food for the horses, and prizes for the men. If some of the income is disappearing, how are you paying for it all?”

“Most of the Governors on the Board are quite wealthy. They are self-funding the operation.” 

“And how do you find your attendance numbers?” I ask. “Are they as you expected?”

Maxwell grumbles, “Unfortunately we neglected to do much advance advertising, and the event itself has received disappointingly little coverage from the press. Except for the "Officers' Day" of course. That was last Wednesday.”

“And tomorrow?” I prod.

“Nothing special planned. We’re getting to the end of the competitions though, so we’ll have some finals later in the week.”

“Excellent.” I cock my head, “and your potential audience will be made aware of this… how, exactly?”

Maxwell sputters (why do Apes DO this when asked the simplest questions) a litany of ‘not really my responsibility’ at which point I cut him off, and point out that the success of the tournament is the responsibility of everyone involved. So, what was he planning on doing about it?

I leave him grumbling into his gin. I’m tired and this case is frustrating me. 

A few minutes later, after I have calmed down, I feel a patient presence at my elbow. Jenny is across the Area, speaking softly with Constable Palmer. So this must be James, one of the very small number of Apes that I can stand to have near me. 

“Madame Vastra, may I have a word with you?” asks Thackeray. At my nod, he continues, “I asked my colleagues in the banks a bit about Maxwell. The man is young, but seems to be respected for being quite good at what he does. This is his first year in the position; the previous assistant treasurer was quietly let go at the end of the last tournament. Now mind, I’ve heard talk of some rumours that he was suspected of embezzling, but the men I’ve spoken with say that makes no sense; the man was of good character with no large debts or vices. Besides which, if it were true, the problem would have ceased when he was no longer employed.” 

“That is very interesting. And very useful to know.” 

“On the other matter we’ve discussed, I’ve spoken with an Estate Agent about the area that you are interested in. He’s located several properties that you might like.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak with him for several days. This case is consuming a significant amount of my time.”

“I understand. If I may make one suggestion?”

“Of course.” He can suggest all he likes. I may even listen occasionally.

“Then may I recommend that when you are finished with this case, that you consider moving your household to a respectable hotel? Even if only as a temporary measure. While I will miss your company here, it will give both you and Jenny a chance to re-adjust to a more refined way of living.”

I’m not completely certain I understand what Thackeray is saying, but I suspect he is telling me to go to more spacious transient quarters and take Jenny with me. This is a good idea so far as I am concerned. As I said, occasionally I will listen.

However, I’m not sure what Jenny will think of the plan.

***

Wednesday morning finds us back at the Hall. So far we have not been able to find either thieves or what Thackeray referred to as embezzlers. Shortly after we arrive however, Maxell tracks us down, sweating heavily. I can smell fear on him.

“Please come with me Madame Vastra. The Tournament Treasurer, Mr Carr-Harris, wants to see you immediately.” As we leave the arena, I see Parker and Taylor enter. Jenny sees them as well, and waves to them. She seems to make another gesture too, but I am concentrating on following Maxwell, and don't catch it all.

We are led under the stands to a large room with a table and numerous chairs, close to the main entrance. As it turns out, the treasurer reminds me of nothing so much as the overstuffed pigeons who strut around our windowsill from time to time. Especially the ones I like to hand over to Jenny for pigeon pie. He immediately orders Maxwell and Jenny out of the room, and to ‘shut the door behind them.’ He ignores them after that; a mistake on his part. Maxwell turns to leaves and I hear the door shut, but my focus is on the tall, arrogant Carr-Harris Ape as it paces around the room. It does not invite me to sit. I listen quietly while it rants; it seems the silly thing is not happy about having ‘a woman poking around and asking questions about something she can’t possibly know anything about.’

Finally it runs out of hot air. “I want you to give up and get out of here. Now!” It turns away, obviously dismissing me. I, however, am not so easy to dismiss.

“What utter nonsense!” I reply. Carr-Harris turns back to me, astonished at being openly contradicted. This one gets his way far too often for his own good.

“Why yes, I could give up now, as you ask. However I will of course go immediately to Scotland Yard and give my notes, observations and theories to one of their most experienced inspectors. I only undertook the case to spare the Tournament considerable embarrassment.”

“What do you mean?” Carr-Harris asked angrily.

“The alternative to my investigation is NOT that the problem will quietly go away, the alternative is that by this time tomorrow the Hall and the offices of the Board of Governors will be infested with police officers, all probing the cause of the tournament’s financial problems. And while I strongly suspect that that might finally bring the Tournament some badly needed notice from the public, I really cannot recommend it as a strategy to gain broader publicity.” 

The Carr-Harris Ape scoffs. “The cause to the problem is obvious; I’m certain that the last assistant treasurer was… less than competent, perhaps even dishonest, and frankly, Maxwell isn’t any better.”

“You hired both of them, did you not? While it may be true that you could be so unlucky as to hire two such… men one after the other, there are other far more obvious explanations that most people will jump to; that either you yourself are incompetent in choosing your assistants, or that you are covering for your own... shortcomings. Therefore it is in your own interest to let me continue my work, and find out the truth of the matter.” 

Like any Ape when challenged, Carr-Harris then proceeds to threaten me with noise and bluster. I’m surprised that it has enough self-control to refrain from beating its chest with its paws. 

Finally, when it pauses for a breath, I ask, “You do realize that there is a witness to your poor behaviour and posturing in the room?” I wave my hand at Jenny. Her dark clothing against the dark wooden door makes it easy to overlook her presence, and obviously Carr-Harris was not paying any sort of attention to her. “She’s been standing here the entire time.” 

To my amusement Jenny drops a tiny curtsey, and then smirks at him.

“How the devil?! I told you to leave.” Jenny’s face moves, and the Ape snarls at her. I must remember to ask her what she conveyed to him. “No matter. No-one will believe the word of woman’s maid over mine.” He finally glances behind her, to where the door is standing slightly open. “And I told Maxwell to shut that blasted door!” 

“Oh he did, sir. I just opened it up again quiet-like afterwards. Not good for a Lady’s reputation to be alone with a strange man, now is it? Much better to have a chaperone. Or several. Like the men standing in the hall outside, listening to every word you’ve said.”

Carr-Harris’s face goes white, and it strides over and pulls open the door. I peer over its shoulder to find Taylor and Parker glaring at it. Maxwell is hiding behind them trying to decide whether to be alarmed or outraged. Carr-Harris starts to bluster, but Parker and Taylor simply cross their arms and scowl at it. So much for this idiot of an Ape: it’s been outsmarted by a clever little monkey! Jenny crosses the room, and takes a position to my left and slightly in front of me. And crosses her arms. No doubt she is scowling as well!

Carr-Harris sputters but backs off. I give it a slight nod, and sweep out of the room with the words. “Come along, Jenny! We have work to do!”

Jenny’s “Yes ma’am” and the light tread of shoes, followed by heavier hob-nailed boots on the wooden floor are very reassuring sounds.

***

We return to our work, with my thanks to Parker and Taylor for their timely presence. Parker is wide eyed, but Taylor is cheekier, “Honest Madame, you’re really investigating the Tournament?” At my nod, it simply says, “Good for you!” The Apes go about their business, but I notice them observing us from time to time throughout the day.

In the early afternoon, however, as I discuss the case with her, something catches Jenny’s eye and she turns away slightly, preoccupied.

“Pay attention when I’m speaking to you,” I hiss.

“Half a mo, please ma’am,” says Jenny, still distracted. She seems to be watching something going on near one of the exits, not in the arena.

And suddenly she’s off, moving at a rapid walk towards a nearby group of Apes. I can see a family, two adults and several hatchlings, including a small one that is being carried by the adult in a dress. All wear rather shabby clothes.

Jenny moves past them and without breaking her stride, she grabs two youngsters behind the family by their ears and drags them away. They are dressed in even worse clothing than Jenny was when I met first her. The hatchlings yelp, but quickly fall silent.

I hurry to catch up with Jenny. I hear the thudding of hobnails on packed dirt behind me and turn to find Parker and Taylor arriving to help. However, Jenny has the situation under control.

Jenny tosses the youngsters against a wall, and does her best to loom over them (it’s very… amusing to me to watch the attempt, as Jenny is rather small herself.) She proceeds to question the hatchlings sharply; her voice is…rough, she sounds harsh and angry, and the words she speaks are unfamiliar. Yet the ‘street rats,’ as Jenny once described herself, seem to know her. Both are even smaller than Jenny, and cower in her firm grip, but they aren’t fighting her, and defer to her dominance.

However, despite the fact that she is shaking them, and growling at them, she has not called for the police constable I can see across the arena.

Their speech is almost incomprehensible to me. Fast and full of words that make no sense, spoken in accents so thick that I can only recognize one word in ten. And I’m not the only one who can barely understand them.

“Are they speaking English, Ma’am?” murmurs Taylor.

“I honestly have no idea,” I reply. For once the two of us stand together, united in complete bafflement as to what Jenny and the street rats are saying.

***

A shout full of despair comes from behind us “My wallet!” Jenny doesn’t let go of the youngsters.

“It’s in the girl’s left pocket, Ma’am,” Jenny says, shaking one of the hatchlings slightly so I know which one she means. I remove a thin, worn piece on leather, turning it over in my hands.

“Private Taylor, it’s awful lucky you found that on the floor, now isn’t it.?” Jenny’s not so much asking but almost ordering him to help. Luckily, the Ape is up to the challenge.

“Very lucky!” says Taylor with a nod of its head, “I’m sure the poor man will be quite happy to have it back.” Taylor takes the bit of leather from me, and saunters off towards the commotion behind us. Parker remains with us, keeping a careful eye on the young monkeys.

Jenny turns back to them. “Ya pair o’ useless toolers, yer lucky I nabbed ya and not a bluebottle,” is as close as I can get to what she says.

“C’mon Jenny, wa paid oor flash…”

“Ya never did, ya never ‘ave a farthin’ ‘tween ya…” scoffs Jenny, then stops, looking at them with eyes narrowed to mere slits. She looks like a true predator now. “How did you get in here? Didn’t pay, so you must have come in another way.”

The hatchlings glance at each other, trembling now.

“Show me!” barks Jenny and the youngsters shake and then point backstage. Jenny releases the smaller one, keeping a tight grip on the other. “Go on,” she says, and we are led first ‘behind the scenes. A young Ape in a red coat tries to stop us, but Jenny just keeps going as if she has every right to be there and he steps out of the way. She’s going to be marvellous in a few years.

On our way, I leave watching the hatchlings to Jenny, and take the opportunity to look around us. Apes are busy cleaning weapons and equipment, reviewing what I recognize as tournament brackets, and generally preparing to go ‘on stage.’ Oh this brings me back to my days at the Gathering! Now we are back with the horses, and Apes are cleaning and feeding the horses, and the open ended boxes in which the horses are stored. Here and there, and Ape with a small wagon with one wheel is carrying away filthy straw. The smell is here is almost overwhelming to me, although familiar. It’s the same odour as I often encounter in the streets, especially on hot days. “God, what a pong!” mutters Jenny.

The hatchlings soon lead us to a dusty side corridor, and then into darkness. The corridor takes us to an outside wall, where there is a small, forgotten hatch. Its latch is hanging loose when we look at it closely, but to a bored guard, it would look secure. Jenny thrusts the hatchlings at Parker, and drops to her knees to examine it. She can squeeze through, but just barely. A minute later she’s back, staring hard at the hatchlings.

“It goes out to an alley behind the Hall, ma’am. Near where the horse droppings are tossed. Probably an old delivery hatch that’s been forgotten.”

“By the manure pile? Perhaps it was for fodder for the horses, and was abandoned when the pile was relocated,” says Parker. Jenny nods, and then grabs the hatchlings again. This time, though, she is not as rough with them. 

“C’mon, it’s time for you to leave.” We escort them out of the hall, towards a side-door. Once there, she pulls out a little bag from her pocket and gives each of them a small silver coin.

“Here’s sixpence each for the information about the hidden door. Don’t let me see you back in here buzzing though, or I’ll hand you over to the crushers quicker than thought!”

The hatchlings agree, obviously delighted, and scamper off outside.

Parker eyes Jenny for a long moment. “You’re too soft.” He finally says.

“What’s it to you?” growls Jenny, and stalks off towards the arena.

“Mr Parker, have you ever lived on the streets of London?”

“No Ma’am, but…”

“No ‘buts’. I trust Jenny’s judgement in this. ‘Soft’ she may seem to be, but I suspect that there will be no more trouble from those street rats this week.” Especially not if they think my little dragon is watching for them!

***

When we return to the main hall, Parker and I see Jenny stalking back and forth muttering to herself. The Taylor Ape is nearby, watching but not interfering with her. As we approach, there is a sudden commotion. I look up and see the poor Ape family approaching rapidly. The skirted Ape – possibly a female - collapses before Taylor, and I am concerned that he has hurt her. She is wailing about something and keeps repeating “God bless you.” Taylor is obviously surprised, and Parker and I hasten to interfere. The female’s mate, however, has managed to capture Taylor’s paw, and keeps pumping it up and down. I move forward, but suddenly Jenny is there, stopping me with a gentle hand on my arm.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” she says, “They’re just saying ‘Thank you.’ Looks like I’m not the only one who’s ‘soft.’”

Finally the Ape wearing trousers thanks Taylor again for something, gathers the female and they return to their nearby set of hatchlings. Parker turns to Taylor and growls, “What was all that fuss about?”

“Well, you see, I added a pound or two, possibly a bit more, to the wallet before I returned it. It was almost empty when Miss Jenny gave it to me, and I thought the pickpockets had cleaned it out.” He shrugs, his face growing red. “I didn’t realise that there wasn’t anything in it for them to steal in the first place.”

Jenny grins at him, Parker shakes his head, and I curse silently in the language of my people. There’s no way I can eat him now! Jenny would be very unhappy with me.

***

After the various Apes disperse to their business, I lead Jenny back to our seats in the stands. “Those small wagons the…soldiers where using. Could they be stealing the straw?” Jenny starts to laugh quietly, but stops when I scowl at her. I am always amazed that she can tell my expressions through the heavy netting that I wear.

“No ma’am. They were mucking out the stalls. The horses, well, they don’t use privies, right, so they…um…” She waves to the arena, where several Apes are cleaning up from competition involving several horses.

“Relieve themselves where they stand,” I add.

“Right. The men use the wheelbarrows to move the dirt outside to the manure pile.” Two Apes are using a shovel and a long-handled tool with a fork on the end to load a hand wagon. A third Ape lifts the handles, and takes it away.

I think about this for a minute. “Are the contents of the wheeled barrows searched when they are taken outside?”

“Wheelbarrows, ma’am. Shouldn’t think so, who’d want that job?”

“Yet surely the best way to remove bulky objects would be to conceal them in a noxious substance?” I suggest.

Jenny frowns, staring hard at the wheely barrow receding in the distance. “Well, if you mean that maybe they buried the loot… I suppose…”

“Then we shall spend the night on watch.”

“On watch? On a pile o’ sh…” Jenny cuts herself off and drops her head into her hands. “Ma’am, please tell me yer not serious!”

“Yes I am. We will guard the manure pile tonight and see if anyone attempts to recover any stolen goods!”

***

Fortunately, Jenny has her trousers and jacket in her satchel, in case she needed to disguise herself again. So she is able to change clothes late in the evening.

A night on guard duty would not usually be a hardship in the warm weather of what the Apes call late ‘June.’ Unfortunately shortly after the local bells tolled twelve strokes and fell silent for the night, it starts to rain, and the temperature quickly drops from pleasant to uncomfortably cool. I’m wearing my cloak of course, but Jenny is simply dressed in trousers, shirt and jacket. Eventually, her young impatience, and no doubt her chills, make themselves known, and she observes “It’s dark, it’s cold and we’re sitting in the rain, guarding a big pile of horse sh…manure. Ma’am!”

“A warrior’s life is not always heroic or glamorous. Frequently there are long periods of extreme boredom and toil, followed by fear, mayhem and heart-stopping danger. Sometimes literally.”

“And sometime warriors sit around guarding horse…droppings?”

“If that’s what needs to be done, then yes.”

“Hoorah for us!” Ah, the same grumblings of any warrior cadet I ever taught. I almost smile, for in the darkness around us, Jenny comes very close to sounding like one of my own people.

“Silence,” I warn her. “Do not reveal yourself to any watching Ape.”

While she quiets down again, and does a brave job of being strong, Jenny is eventually shivering from being cold and wet. She lasts far longer though than I would have if I was dressed as lightly as she. It’s time for me to take a hand. I pull us both under an overhanging roof, sit on a small wooden box, and tug Jenny down to sit beside me, wrapping her under the cover of my cloak.

“We will watch from here for a while.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” says Jenny. A few minutes later though, she asks, “Ma’am, you feel rather cool. Are you chilled?”

“No, I’m simply cold-blooded.” I can almost feel her thinking about that. “I will explain later. For now, maintain silence in case our prey is about.”

***

Nothing happens at all. Jenny tries not to grumble, but I suspect her tongue is very sore from biting it. She needs something to do to warm her up. I know what needs to be done, but I expect that Jenny will not be very happy with me about it. The half-light of near dawn will help; at least we’ll be able to see.

“Do you think you can find the hatch that your young…associates showed us today?”

“Should think so Ma’am. It’s just over there.”

“I need you to go inside, and bring back a shovel and one of those long forked implements.”

“A shovel and a pitchfork. Yes Ma’am. Anything else?”

“A wheely barrow won’t fit through that hatch, I presume?”

“A wheel barrow? No, the hatch is too small. What do we need a whee…” Jenny stops, and her head drops. “Ma’am, please tell me you ain’t going to do what I think you are?”

“It must be done, Jenny. We need to be sure. And the exercise will help keep you warm.”

Jenny sighs deeply, and then disappears into the darkness. It takes a while, but eventually she reappears with a shovel across her shoulders, two canvas buckets filled with water threaded onto it. She must have fetched them out one at a time through the hatch. I’ve sometimes seen Apes carrying milk in the streets like this; it amuses me to see Jenny doing it.

“What are the water buckets for?” I ask.

“They’re for after the work,” mutters Jenny.

“Ah. Clever. Although you forgot the fork pole.”

“Pitchfork. Didn’t forget it. You’re not mucking around in manure in those clothes; that’s your second best dress and that cloak takes forever to dry. I’ll do it. My trousers are easier to wash. You tell me what to do and keep watch. But no ‘stinky, smelly, filthy or dirty Ape’ comments for a week after this. Right?”

“Agreed.” I can’t argue with her reasoning. Besides, Jenny is usually a very clean smelling young Ape. I don’t think I’ve called her filthy in several months. And I was drunk at the time.

Still, given the task ahead, I understand her concern.

***

I outline a basic search pattern for Jenny to dig, but in the end, it is a waste of effort. Unless one counts the lesson in patience and duty for Jenny. We don’t find anything, but Jenny ends up rather off worse for the effort.

At the end of the exercise, Jenny dumps the two buckets of water over herself and her clothes to try and wash some of the dirt off. She is cold and wet, but slightly less offensive to my sense of smell. I certainly understand her demand for no ‘filthy Ape comments for a week.’ I remind myself that this was my idea; Jenny carried out her orders; and I Will Not be an insensitive idiot. No foolish comments from the lizard woman. Not this time.

Jenny might poison my next meal if I’m that stupid.

***

We walk home on Thursday morning; Jenny tells me that seeing how wet and dirty she is, no cab will stop for us. This proves to be an accurate prediction.

To distract her, I assign Jenny the task of reading any playbills or posters pasted on the walls we pass, advertising the latest plays, lectures and entertainments. These and handbills, the pieces of paper that young monkeys are paid to hand out on the streets, are an important means of communication for the Apes of this city. To add incentive, I promise her a reward if she finds a certain name.

I think of my own poster from the ‘Monstre Gathering.” Our fair lacked many things, but Henry Gordon Jago made sure that the local Apes knew when we were performing. Handbills and posters were a vital part of his communication strategy.

Jenny diligently does as I request, and to my delight, finds the name of my old colleague among the plastered notices. She writes down the name and location in her notebook, and displays it to me proudly. I agree that she has earned her reward.

Jenny soon sees a street vendor and approaches it but the vendor recoils, probably from the smell of Jenny’s clothes. I step in, and after consulting with Jenny, exchange some coins for three items that Jenny calls ‘meat pies.’ I consume a very tasty morsel that Jenny calls a hot beef pie, and Jenny has a Cornish pasty. We divide a second meat pie between us. We are both are in a far more cheerful mood after our hot breakfast. I must remember this, and have Jenny instruct me on how to choose the proper vendors in order to obtain the best food. I smile to myself though; Jenny probably thinks this is her reward. To me this is simply a well-deserved snack and Jenny’s reward will come later.

***

When we arrive at the Gin Palace, I intercept George returning from an early morning errand, and send him to his mother for eggs, bread and as a favour to us, some bacon from the nearby butcher. Jenny takes up a bucket of cold water, and while I wander off to the necessary she has a quick wash, dries off and changes into the clean dry clothes for sleeping. By the time I return, George has dropped off the groceries and we ready to take a short morning nap. 

***

Sleep puts both of us in a much better mood, and I tell Jenny to retrieve her notes and maps. I take some time to review them, and finally sit back, and glance over to where Jenny is preparing a light breakfast.

“I’m trying to decide what is wrong with the Tournament,” I sigh.

“Sometimes it’s really grand, but it can be awfully boring too!” I almost growl, ready to reprimand her for losing focus on the case, and then pause. Jenny and her family, though very poor, often went to events like this, at least as a ‘treat’. 

That’s likely why she was keeping an eye on the Apes that the pickpockets targeted the other day; they reminded her of her own family. Thus she understood, far better than the rest of us, how devastating the loss of even an almost empty wallet could be. And how much of a difference a pair of sixpence could make to two young street rats. More important to the current case, however, are Jenny’s thought on the Tournament itself.

“Would your family go to an event such as this?” I ask.

“Well, it’s awfully dear for just watching the same things over and over. Might be fun to see the finals. And something interesting, like cutlass drill, or a gun run. That one we saw the other evening was good. Might go once, but I doubt we’d ever go back again. Probably wouldn’t suggest it to anyone else either. Too many more interesting things to see in the city.”

I nod. As is often the case, Jenny’s words remind me of something I already knew. “The Apes of London enjoy spectacle and novelty. You’ve said your own family liked to go out to such events when they could; a Royal Navy Cutlass Drill, a ride on the Underground, even a fair that was essentially a freak show.“

“You’re no freak!” Jenny protests. “Just ‘cause you’re not human doesn’t make you a freak. Just means you’re different!”

Once again, I am reminded that I rather enjoy the company of this friendly young monkey. Even if she does have a talent for mischief.

And once again, her observations spark a flicker of an idea, as slivers of information that I know, but have not yet processed begin to be forged into patterns by my mind.

“Ma’am?” I distantly hear Jenny ask.

“Shhh,” I reply. “I’m thinking.” I sit back and let my mind work through all I’ve heard and seen until now.

I barely notice the tasty nibbles of soft bacon and boiled eggs or the hot tea that I eat and drink as fuel for my contemplations. Strangely, I never question that they don’t run out until I’m full, and my thinking is done.

I know who the culprits are. I know what must be done. I also know exactly who can help solve this problem. And, thanks to Jenny, I know he’s nearby and exactly where he’s currently touring

Now I just need to contact him. Time to visit the Post Office.

***

I leave Jenny at the flat, as she considers washing her clothes her most pressing priority. I can’t fault her for that!

As luck would have it, as I return from the nearby main Post Office, I am hailed by James Thackeray, walking towards the Bank of England. To my surprise, Mr Dawes is with him. I have never seen him outside the bank before. I was under the impression that he lived there.

“Madame Vastra! Lovely to see you?” James looks around, frowning. “Where’s Jenny? You really should not be out without your maid, Madame!”

“There was a slight… emergency. Jenny is doing some needed laundry, while I simply posted a letter. Surely no more than a minor inconvenience, and entirely due to my own restlessness.” They nod and we walk together for a minute. An idea comes to mind, and I turn and ask, “Mr Dawes. If you can spare a moment, I would like to ask you a few general questions. Your answer may be useful to my investigation.”

Dawes nods, a truly powerful Ape who is once again being generous towards me. “How may I help you Madame?”

I explain quickly the case Jenny and I are working on. Dawes acknowledges that he has heard Thackeray mention it to a colleague, but he is not aware of the details before I explained them.

“My first question is this: were you are aware of this event before Mr Thackeray or I mentioned it? If so, have you attended it during either year?”

“I was invited to ‘Officer’s Day last year,” Mr Dawes replies, “And found it interesting, if sometimes a trifle tedious. I have not attended the tournament this year, due to my schedule.” 

On my other side, James Thackeray shakes his head, “For what’ it’s worth, Madame, I’ve never been. I admit that I hadn’t even heard of it before last Saturday night.”

“I’m not surprised,” I reply. “There seems to have been a surprising lack of communication regarding the event. Which brings me to my second and final question: How did you hear about it? Or rather, who invited you?”

Dawes regards me for a long moment, and then answers, “I belong to the board of a charitable society that is opening an infirmary for old soldiers near Notting Hill soon. I was invited to the tournament last year by... a relative of one of our patrons. It was interesting I suppose, but my schedule has been full this year, and to be blunt, I found the event is too… repetitive to be worth a special trip this year.”

“That answer does not surprise me. As always Mr Dawes, you have been most helpful. I appreciate your honesty.”

“Madame, have you found the answers you seek?”

“I believe so. 

“Have you sorted out what’s going on?” asks Thackeray.

“It is not enough to know what is going on; in order for Maxwell to keep his position, I also need to present a solution to the problem, and persuade what I suspect is a rather stubborn group to listen to me.” 

“And have you found a solution?” asks Dawes. 

“I am confident that I have done so; a former colleague will meet me tomorrow morning at the arena and review my assessment of the situation. I intend to present my findings to the Board on tomorrow afternoon.” 

We arrive at the alley that leading to the small Area behind the Gin Palace, and the stairwell to my flat.

“My only concern is that Mr Maxwell’s superiors will not be pleased by the rather blunt revelation that I must deliver to them. Is there not a saying among the English about ‘killing the messenger?’ Although if it comes to that, I believe I can hold my own. I am much obliged to you both. If you will excuse me?” 

As I leave them and they walk away, Mr Dawes says to Thackeray. “When we arrive at the bank, tell one of the messenger boys to come up and see me. I want to send a note around to the Patron of the Infirmary. I think he might be rather interested in that meeting tomorrow.”

Behind me, I hear James say, “Sir, would that be…?” and then I’m out of range of their voices.

Not that it is important. What do I care about which Apes know about the meeting. Let Dawes tell who he likes. At least it might be entertaining.

***

I spend the rest of Thursday with Jenny, asking about certain words that I may need to know for the meeting on Friday. I need these Apes to pay attention, and word choice will be critical. Jenny explains some of what I need; she’s been writing down things that Thackeray says from time to time, and Abernathy helps as well when he drops by the Gin Palace that evening.

On Friday morning I help Jenny clean the Gin Palace so she will finish earlier and then we make a final visit to the Hall and I look around for my guest. He is sitting in the stands, watching the competitions and alternatively clapping with delight and throwing his head into his paws, but calls out when he sees me.

“Vastra, my dear! This place is a wonder, and a disaster! What sort of idiots have you gotten involved with!”

I’d forgotten how much I like this ridiculous Ape. I’ve known this one for years, and even I have sorted out that he’s male. I introduce Jenny, then brief my guest on what we have seen, what we have been told, and what we have found out. He agrees with my assessment, and shakes his head over the foolishness of it all. He also believes that he can help with the problem.

He’s not The Doctor, but he is very good at what he does. Even if his ideas of showmanship occasionally outrun anything resembling good sense.

Catching bullets with my tongue, indeed!

***

Later after the bells call the Apes back from their mid-day meal, I meet my guest outside the office of the Chairman of the Board of the Grand Tournament. We enter with Jenny, but just outside the meeting room, encounter a foolish Ape, and a small difficulty.

“Your maid will have to wait here Madame. Can’t have a child underfoot, now can we? What if she misbehaves?”

I look the Ape up and down, trying to decide if he is serious. So far as I know, Jenny is a very well behaved young monkey (full of mischief, but well-behaved.) Abernathy, Thackeray and even Mr Dawes appear to like her, and I doubt that Dawes especially would tolerate poor behaviour. 

I cock my head, and reply, “Don’t be foolish. Jenny stays with me.” As he draws breath to protest, I remember something Jenny said a few days ago, and ask. “Will there be other females present at this meeting?”

“Of course not!” huffs the Ape.

Hmmm. How irrational. However back to the point. “Then Jenny will remain with me. I care for my reputation, even if you do not!” And with that, I sweep by him, Jenny and my guest following close behind.

***

The room contains a massive table, painted and gilded and polished to a high sheen. I’ve seen Jenny clean the Gin Palace, and given how hard she works, I can tell that someone put a great deal of effort into that polish. I look over the faces of the Apes who are sitting around the massive table. Almost all have grey fur and most are far fatter than the Apes in the arena. Silverbacks? Or those who delude themselves that they are, perhaps. As far as I can tell, the Ape outside was correct; all are males. I will ask Jenny later to confirm that. Most of them stink of smoke and sweat, but at least they would yield well-marbled meat. I doubt any of them have done as much work in the last week as whoever polished the table did.

Mr Maxwell appears beside me, and introduces one of the older Apes as the Chairman. He addresses the Ape as ‘Milord.’ The Chairman does not invite me to sit. Even I know that is rude, and I wave my guest and Jenny to a bench against the near wall. There are better chairs in the room, but neither will be seated for long.

“So… ‘Madame’… Vastra isn’t it? Maxwell says you have some results to report to us.” 

Just then, a trio of Apes enter, all in a flurry. All the other Apes suddenly stand and bow; even Jenny makes a very creditable curtsey, and the Chairman, startled, begins to fuss. Mr Dawes is one of the trio, but he is deferring to two other large Apes, an older one with an amazing set of grey whiskers on the side of its face, and one who seems younger, though fatter, with dark whiskers. The elder waves the Chairman away, and they sit in heavy leather chairs against the wall. “Madame Vastra, so sorry for being late,” says Mr Dawes with a nod in my direction, “please carry on.” 

The other Apes return to their seats, and the Chairman continues, less challenging now, and it keeps throwing looks at the newcomers. I can smell all the Apes starting to sweat. I think they may be afraid. Not of me. Of the newcomers. How very interesting! 

“As I was saying Madame,” the Chairman continues in a far more polite tone: “Who is stealing from the Grand Tournament? Who is the thief?”

“There is no thief,” I reply. The Apes around the table murmur in surprise and dismay. “There never was a thief. Which I suspect your treasurer knows quite well.” I scan the table, the veil concealing my face, and intimidating the Apes. “Quite simply, you underestimated the expense needed to run the tournament, and overestimated your returns from the sale of admissions, completely ignoring the truth that a dull event that is not well known will not sell tickets! I suspect that you are all fully aware of this, and simply do not wish to admit it to your Royal patrons.” The Apes rustle around the table, glancing quickly at the Two Apes against the wall. I look back at Jenny and my guest. The fuzz-faced human is grinning, and nods his head slightly at the newcomers. Ah! Really! How very intriguing that the Royalty in question have dropped by! I thought all Ape royalty wore crowns and gowns. Obviously that is not so. These two are dressed much like the others.

“Gentlemen,” I started, remembering the words Jenny taught me, “If you hope to make a profit, and fulfil your promises to the Duke of Cambridge to support his charities, then you can no longer help it. This tournament must change.”

“The officers and men enjoy the chance to increase their skill-at-arms through competition. I understand from my investigations that various inter-regimental Assaults at Arms were already being arranged in preparation for the next Grand Tournament. Almost everyone I spoke with agrees that the annual event provides a tremendous incentive to improve themselves.

“What you do not have is a focused event. When I see even the most devoted spectators lounging in their seats tired at the repetition of the contests, it is not difficult to deduce that the event can be boring at times!”

“High and mighty, or low and hard-working, the story is the same. Londoners love a good show. Exhibitions such as the World's Fair at the Crystal Palace, Astley's Amphitheatre, and or even a travelling fair with an eclectic variety of acts are all proven draws.

“In other words, in order to appeal to the general public, you need to think in terms of show business.”

I wave forward my guest, a jovial Ape with fur growing thickly along the sides of his face, with a smaller tuff under his nose.

“Gentleman, this is an acquaintance of mine, who I believe can help you. May I introduce Mr Henry Gordon Jago, a professional showman. He was kind enough to attend the Tournament this morning, and has some very strong recommendations for you.”

“Such as?” Challenged one of the Apes.

“For a start,” boomed Jago, “limit the number of heats and competitors, and return to shorter week long layout. Hold the elimination heats early in the day. That will save the more exciting finals for the evening performances. Then mix the competitions with a variety of displays that will wow the crowds.”

The Apes are, fortunately, paying attention to Jago, more than to me. I circle around the table to Maxwell, and lean down to speak in his ear. “Stay on your guard. I want a word with the Treasurer.” Maxwell discreetly nods, and I continue circling around until I reach the overfat Ape near the Chairman. Carr-Harris looks up at me startled, while the discussion goes on around us.

“What sort of displays?”

“Some of the men were knocking off each other’s helmets with their swords while they were waiting, and there seemed to be a great deal of interest from those watching, even a few bets were exchanged. Perhaps something like that would be a start.”

“Oh that’s a child’s game!”

“Maybe have teams compete…” and Jago was off and enthusiastically babbling.

I lean over the treasurer’s shoulder and murmur in his ear. “I know what you did. I know that you tried to save your own hide for overspending the tournament’s funds and blamed your subordinates, even to the point of starting rumours of embezzlement last year. You are a bully and a coward. However, although such actions may be disgraceful, they are not illegal. On the other hand, I also know that if you attempt to use the firearm you have concealed in your coat with Royalty in the room, it will go far worse for you than it will for me.” The Ape turns towards me, starting to bluster, but stops almost at once, glancing fearfully over my shoulder. I straighten and turn slightly, unsurprised to find Mr Dawes standing there.

“You should be aware,” he says quietly, “that Mr Bradshaw, this tournament’s former assistant treasurer, will be starting work at the Bank of England next week, under the direction of our senior manager. Many of the rumours attached to that young mans’ name are repeated by those who sit on charitable boards with you, Carr-Harris. I expect that the rumours will quickly cease.” Even I, unfamiliar with the tones of Apes, can hear the ‘Or Else” at the end of that sentence. Mr Dawes offers me his elbow, and I take it lightly, accepting his escort back to the head of the table.

“Madame,” he warns me, “I will not be able to introduce you to their Highnesses today. We need to leave in a moment; we only stopped in on the way to a meeting for the infirmary I mentioned that is opening on Monday.”

“Mr Dawes, that you took the time to do so at all saved me a considerable amount of effort arguing with stubborn fools. As always, your help is very much appreciated.” I release his arm and give him a slight bow and nod. The Royal Apes are already by the door. Jenny, wide-eyed, is keeping out of their way, and trying very hard not to stare at them. Dawes gathers up the others, and they are off. The younger one takes a moment to bare its teeth a little and nod at Jenny and then sweeps out the door.

Jenny looks awe-struck. “The Prince of Wales just smiled at me! Closest I’ll ever get to Royalty, I’ll wager!” Now that one Ape may have the potential to be a leader. I must look into it more.

Nearby one of the Apes at the table is expounding to its fellows, “Now that I think of it, there’s a young officer in the Cavalry who keeps going on about the mounted troops doing drill evolutions, to music. No commands, you see, just music.”

“What, a kind of…. musical ride? What sort of nonsense is that? A few horse trotting around to the band?”

“Well, the ladies might like it. We could at least speak with him about it…”

I turn to Jago, and murmur, “I’m sure I can count on you to keep things suitable this time; if not. I’ll be sure to hear about it and I will Take Measures.”

“You have my word Vastra!” When I stiffen at the familiarity, he bares his teeth in a smile. “I mean, ‘Madame Vastra.’ Leave things to me, my friend, this is the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”

“Very well, I leave you to it.” Jago nods to me, but is quickly back speaking with the other Apes. It’s time for Jenny and me to go.

I’ve done my best, and learned a good lesson: not everything that goes wrong is a crime, even among the Apes. I will need to learn what truly is an injustice, who really needs protecting and what is simply straight forward foolishness. I leave the Apes to their bickering.

We make our way outside, and to my surprise, we find Private Taylor leaning on the wall; close enough to keep watch, but not so close as to make me wish to gut it. Well, not too much, anyway. Inspector Abernathy is waiting as well, finally showing some interest in the tournament now that we’ve established that no robbery has taken place. The two Apes are speaking together quietly.

As always, Abernathy smells of cigars, and Taylor smells of pipe smoke and gunpowder, but today for some reason, I detect a new, faint smell. I wave Jenny over to me, and leaning close, quietly ask her if she sees anything amiss with Taylor or Abernathy. I can smell fresh blood.

Jenny looks both Apes over carefully, but discreetly. “Don’t see any blood on their clothes,” she replies quietly, “Maybe one of them nicked himself shaving, and it’s under the collar, or Private Taylor skinned his knees practicing for the rifle competition. Is it a problem?”

I consider her words. “No. We’ll let it go for now.”

I inform the waiting Apes of the results of the meeting. Abernathy is relieved, and Taylor is simply satisfied that it’s over. To my surprise, Taylor has a package for me as well. “Sergeant Parker mentioned you know a promising youngster who might benefit from learning single-stick.” With a wink, it hands the long package to Jenny to carry, and turns back to me. “There’s a note in there with the names of several clubs around the city. You might want to give the Westside Fencing Centre a miss though; they’re considered a bit scandalous. It’s rumoured that they even teach sword-play to women.” Taylor bares its teeth, and I want to smack it.

“Now then,” it continues, “you best come down to Wimbledon for the National Match finals on the sixteenth of July. You’ll have a jim-dandy time. England, Scotland and Ireland will all be shooting, and the Welsh are sending a team for the first time this year! I’ll put your name on the spectator’s list. And be sure to bring Jenny of course!” He addresses me, but I am not so easily fooled. The Ape is still curious about Jenny.

“I think he likes you,” says Jenny as Taylor strolls off.

“I’m more worried that he likes you!” I reply with a growl.

“I’m a bit young for him, I think,” says Jenny with a shake of her head. 

I’m sure she is. The other Apes appear to tolerate him. But Private Taylor may be keeping secrets. I want to know what, and I want to know why. 

We may go to Wimbledon after all.

***

On Saturday, Jenny discovers that the Illustrated London News has several engravings of events at the Tournament. I shake my head, I’d seen the artist sketching in the stands from time to time, but with the coverage is too little and too late for this year.

Two days later, Mrs Brown gives Jenny an envelope addressed to me. It contains a piece of paper with the words “Draft on the Bank of Islington for Thirty Pounds Sterling,” signed by Mr Maxwell, and a note that says “Thank-you for all your help. I am delighted to offer you the enclosed honorarium, and reimbursement for your expenses. Mr Jago is proving to be a God-send to the tournament. Should you ever need a reference as an investigator, please feel free to contact me.” I need to consult Mr Thackeray, who as always proves to be a very intelligent Ape, and explains that the draft is a way to transfer money to us. He helps me set up what he calls ‘an account’ at the Bank of England. There are a great number of pieces of paper and pens and writing involved. When I protest that I have little time for such foolishness, Mr Dawes becomes involved, and by special permission, Jenny is allowed to ‘deposit’ funds (put money into our account) and withdraw up to ten pounds on her own signature and unlimited funds if she has a note from me. I miss most of the explanation, but Jenny is considered a ‘minor’ (strange, as I’ve never seen her digging, although she is now very knowledgeable about the underground sewers and rivers of London as a result of our previous adventure) and cannot have her own account. Jenny simply shrugs, and says to me that the six shillings a week she earns from cleaning the gin palace doesn’t need an account; I can hold it just fine. That reminds me that I still need to sort out what to do with the Scorpions funds that we captured. And how to explain to Jenny that she will lose her cleaning income when we move.

A short conversation with James reveals that a bank manager would make about 175 – 200 pounds a year, so Thirty Pounds is very good for six days work. 

I believe that is time to put my own plan in motion. First, though, I need to let Jenny choose her future. I admit that I am half-inclined to simply put a collar and leash on her, but I suspect that doing so would ensure that my human runs at the first chance she gets.

And from what I know of Jenny, if she doesn’t get a chance to run through the normal course of events, then she will somehow create her own opportunity.

Therefore I am resolved: in the next few days, I will find the occasion to sit down with Jenny and tell her, well, as much of the truth about who and what I am as I can. That way I can control the situation. There is so much about me, about my family, my past and my…tastes that she never needs to know…

***

Madame Vastra’s plan was excellent. However she would soon learn that the best laid plans of lizards and women go often astray...

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> In 1880 the Grand Tournament and Assault at Arms debuted in London and ran again in 1881. In both years it lost large amounts of money, despite interest from the Royal Family. The tournament was not well advertised, and there was not much coverage in the press, although there were several illustrations in the Illustrated London News in the July 2, 1881 edition. After the 1881 tournament, the organizers revamped the format, shortened the days from two weeks back to six days, changed how the elimination rounds worked, and reworked the evenings to provide more spectacles.
> 
> Along with other changes, The Musical Ride, a mass display of synchronised horsemanship by the Household Cavalry was introduced. This spectacle took London by storm. The Agricultural Hall was packed for the week and the future of the Grand Tournament and Assault at Arms was assured. In 1884, Queen Victoria gave assent to add the word “Royal” to the title, and the Royal Tournament then ran annually until 1999. 
> 
> Much of the information on the Grand Tournament comes from several articles on the “Journal of Manly Arts” website especially "A Grand Assault-at-Arms: Tournaments and Combative Exhibitions in Victorian England” (Journal of Manly Arts: Aug 2001: Tony Wolf, part of the Electronic Journal of Martial Arts.)
> 
> John Lee Comstock M.D., (1789 – 1858) author of “A System of Natural Philosophy: Principles of Mechanics” and many other books on basic science should not be confused with Arthur Comstock, founder of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, Postal Inspector and strident opponent of, among many other things, anything related to birth control. 
> 
> Jenny and the pickpockets are speaking Victorian slang. ‘A bluebottle’ is a policemen, ‘the crushers’ are the police, and ‘toolers’ are pickpockets. A farthing was worth one quarter of a penny. Sixpence (six pennys) is equal to half a shilling. 
> 
> For the Americans in the audience, Jenny and Vastra really would call it a Cornish Pasty. ‘Cornish Pastry’ is the American spelling. 
> 
> Yes, I really am so daft that I add footnotes and citations to my fanfiction.
> 
> Next Chapter – It’s time to come clean, as Vastra learns that sometimes secrets are found out in the worst possible way.


	3. Coming Clean – Part 1 - July 1881

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baths are good for the body, and confessions are good for the soul. Madame Vastra is preparing a big change for their lives, and plans to tell Jenny a carefully edited version of Vastra’s story.
> 
> But sometimes plans go horribly wrong…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Trigger Warning – graphic violence, aftermath of sexual violence – Chapter 3 only.}
> 
> {Full notes will be at the end of next chapter.}

**Wednesday July 6, 1881**

Madame Vastra received a Bank Draft from Mr Maxwell Monday morning, and we spent Monday afternoon at the Bank of England. Mr Thackeray and his new assistant Mr Bradshaw helped Madame set up a bank account. Somehow I ended up with permission to put in (deposit, Mr Thackeray calls it) and take out (withdraw) money on Madame’s behalf. I started a new page in my account book just for Madame, wrote down the things we spent money on for the Grand Tournament case, and then added: Received – Thirty Pounds honorarium for services rendered. Mr Thackeray checked my work, and was very pleased that I followed the book he gave me for my birthday. He even wrote ‘Perfect Score – Jenny Flint’ at the top of the page!

On the other hand, my nose is still twitching a bit from our smelly night guarding a pile of sh... manure last week, even though I’ve washed meself a few times, and washed all our clothes twice. Think it might be a good idea to suggest a special treat to Madame Vastra. Be a nice way to say “Thank-you” before I say Good-bye. 

My family flat didn’t have a bath, of course. We just had the privy out back, and the pump down the street. Any water we had, we carried up to the flat in a bucket or two, same as Madame Vastra’s room. That was my job, and later I had Johnny to help me. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor a dark night was an excuse for us to slack off by Ma’s reckoning. But sometimes Ma use to take us to the Washhouse in Goulston Square, just about a quarter hour’s walk from our flat. The baths there were nice and big, with high ceilings covered by an open roof, and had lots of skylights for the daytime when we went, and even gaslights at night for the working folks.

Each bath-room was a bit bigger than six feet each side, shut in by walls of painted slate, which were about twice Ma’s height. The top was open, so we had privacy, but the air could move too. The bath was sunk in the ground and of white painted metal.

We used a second class room. On the door is a knob with a number painted upon it; and the same number was painted inside. The attendant could to let in either hot or cold water, as Ma turned the knob. A hot bath was only two pennies, but only one towel was allowed, and Ma bought our own comb and brush and a rough towel for us young ones. Anne and I usually shared a cold bath in the summer; they were one penny for a second class bath. Ma let us have a hot bath each month in the winter, which was a real treat. 

I think Madame Vastra might like a nice bath too. Let us get cleaned up proper, and get the stench of the manure out of our noses.

***

I have a nice long chat with Mrs Brown about this and that, but the one thing she doesn’t know is where to find a local place that has private baths, so she sends me over to the Greengrocer. Sure enough, Mrs Crawford suggests Faulkner’s on Newgate Street, just north of St. Paul’s; about a ten minute walk away. They’re more expensive than I’m use to; a hot and cold bath is a shilling! But Madame Vastra is worth it. I need to go up and have a look at the place though; Madame needs privacy if she’s going to have a proper bath, and I want to make sure she gets it.

When we were walking back from guarding the manure pile outside the Grand Tournament, Madame had me reading posters on the buildings. I saw a few for some plays, Madame might like a visit to the theatre too. Wouldn’t mind finding a nice little place to eat as well. Probably need a small room so Madame doesn’t need to hide her face….

Oh who am I fooling? If baths are two shilling for both of us and two shillings more for a pair of seats up in the Gods at the theatre; that leaves me with two shillings from a week’s pay for food. We’ll be lucky if we get meat pies and cheese at that rate. Better to pick up some things at Mrs Crawford’s and Baird the butchers and have a sort of picnic instead. 

Well maybe I can get her to come for a nice long walk this evening and clear both our heads. Swing by the grocer and the butcher and Faulkner’s and set everything up. Then we can go to baths and lunch in the park tomorrow. That’s at least a bit of a ‘Thank-you’ present.

Still, she might like a trip to the theatre one day…

Enough. I’m just trying to put things off.

We need to talk. She’ll most likely be really happy with what I need to tell her. 

Well, maybe she’ll be a bit sad.

Don’t be an idiot, Jenny me girl! That’s not bloody likely!

Face it. Madame’s been more kind to me than I could ever ask for. It’s time to grow up and stop being underfoot all the time. She’ll probably be delighted that I won’t be in her apartment, and even happier that I won’t be in her bed!

What I want don’t count fer nothing!! Madame Vastra’s what important here!

***

Madame agrees to a stroll after we practice blade work for the day, and review my notes on a science book I’m reading. It’s about 9 o’clock or so, after sunset and getting on towards full dark. The street lamps cut through the gloom a bit, making it easier to see. Always fun to watch the lamplighter go about his work.

Madame and I have been out far later than this of course; but tonight I’m feeling a bit jumpy. Not sure why. It’s a nice evening, fairly warm; even Madame is wearing her light cloak with the hood down, and just her veiled hat on her head.

As we pass a narrow alley way, I hear a sound like a sobbing, quickly muffled. I shake my head a bit, stop us just the other side of the alleyway, and cock my head to listen again. Beside me, Madame is silent; she knows my hearing is a bit better than hers. Suddenly I hear something being hit, like a hard smack, and whimpering, and a man mutters “Stupid bitch!” followed by grunting. And now I can smell something…wrong in the air.

Madame brushes past me, murmuring “Stay here, I smell blood.” Oh, that’s never good. I remain on the pavement, and glance up at the burning street light. Will Madame even be able to see anything in the dark? 

Suddenly I hear shouting. That’s Madame’s voice! Then a blood-curdling scream!

I’m worried enough that I don’t think, I just run after Madame Vastra. 

There’s a little bit of light from the moon in the alley, and the smell of blood is so thick here even I can almost taste it. There’s a lump on the ground, but it’s Madame Vastra I’m looking for. And I see her all right. 

She’s nearby, crouched over a dead man, his eyes wide and staring at her. There’s a lump in her hand, and a hole in his chest. I can see the white ends of his ribs! Madame Vastra has torn his heart out!

And then to my horror, I see her veil is thrown back; her hand, still clutching the heart is near her face, and there are dark smears around her mouth. Oh Dearest God! 

She’s eating the man’s heart!

I can’t help it; all I can do is scream like a banshee, turn and run! 

I take two steps before I’m chased down and grabbed, her other hand over my mouth to stop my screams. I try to fight her off, but she crouches in the alley and tucks me into her, my back to her front, pinning my arms so I can’t get at my knives. She holds onto me, while I try to kick and flail, but even though I land a few hits, she lets me struggle and fight and just takes the blows. She doesn’t try to fight back; she just keeps holding on and murmuring in my ear. She keeps repeating "Jenny you're safe. Jenny, I won't hurt you."

It takes a few minutes to tire meself out, and I realize that something different is being muttered into my ear; “Jenny, she’s badly hurt. Jenny, she needs your help.”

Who needs my help?

I quiet down, stop fighting and sort of collapse against the cloaked figure who’s holding me. I try to look around, but all I can see is the other lump in the alley.

A lump that is moving slightly. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness a bit, and I can make out that there is a woman on the ground. Her skirts are up over her body, and she’s moaning and sobbing, quietly. She can barely move. There are dark smears of blood everywhere.

Oh bloody, bloody Hell!

“Jenny, will you help her?” I give a quick nod, and Madame lets me go. I scramble over to the woman. Damn, I wasted so much time! 

Madame Vastra starts back towards the man. I can hear his body being dragged away as I rummage through my pockets.

I pull out my little penknife, handkerchief, matches, and a candle stub, light it, drip a bit of wax on a little ledge in the brick wall, and stick the candle in it. It gives me a little more light, as I start to check the woman. She’s bleeding from at least a dozen places. Worse, when I look at her face I know that she can’t be more than a couple o’years older than me.

“God Damn him all to Bloody Hell!” I curse. 

“What`s going on here?” a top-lofty voice calls. I glance up and see a couple hurrying down the alleyway towards us. They must have heard the ruckus. A pair of Toffs. Wonderful! Great help they’ll be! Toffs hate getting their hands dirty with filth like us. We’re not people to them.

The man stops by beside the candle, throwing half the woman’s wounds into shadow. I’m in no mood for being polite to the gentry, even though this isn’t their fault.

“She was attacked. She’s bleeding real bad. If you’re not going to help her, then at least get out of my light. Sir!”

To my surprise, the man nips smartly aside and the woman drops to her knees beside me.

"You a nurse?" I ask, with a sigh of relief. 

"No, I'm a Doctor.”

I look up in shock. “A What? There ain’t no such thing as a woman doctor!”

“Yes, there are, Jenny,” Madame Vastra is back, her voice is behind me, “although they’re extremely rare!” I imagine she’s peering at the woman through her veil. “Great Britain only has one who was licenced here; I saw her mentioned in the papers a month or so ago…”

“Put your hand here and press,” the woman tells me, moving my hand a little to better cover an awful looking knife hole just where the woman’s ribs begin, “you almost had it.” She starts to work on a nasty gash low on the woman’s belly. The doctor still hasn’t looked up from her examination,

“Doctor Elizabeth Garret-Anderson,” she continues, “Nice to meet you. Now can we get on with trying to save this child?”

She looks up now, scowling. She’s not a young woman, but she’s not ancient either. Not beautiful, but a good strong face. Bet she’d have no fear of taking on Madame Vastra if she needed to. And even though that’d not be a good idea, not sure I’d bet against her either. 

The doctor nods to the man, “Anderson, see if you can to find the police and a lantern. And we’ll need the carriage.” 

From behind me, Madame asks, “Jenny, where is your whistle? That will bring the police quickly.” 

“String’s around my neck. Ma’am.” I can’t even look at her right now. Too many things are jumbling around in my head. I can feel meself getting cold. Don’t think. Just do. Stay in the Now. I can have a fit after the girl’s safe. 

Madame Vastra fishes out the whistle string from under my collar, and I try not to shiver. Her glove is wet and cold when it brushes against my skin; she must have found some water and washed the blood off her hands. She gives it to Mr Anderson, and tells him the signal that will bring the police.

“What about the man who attacked her?” he asks. “I don’t want to leave you here unprotected.”

“He won’t come back,” Madame Vastra assures him. I try not to wince at those words. I’m sure he won’t. Dead men don’t walk. 

I hear Mr Anderson hurry up the alley back to the street then give the three blasts on the whistle, followed by a pause and three more.

Then all hell breaks loose. The woman starts awake, screaming. She clutches my wrist and won’t let go, even though she slumps back down again a minute later. I stay with her, still applying my handkerchief to the terrible burbling wound.

******

I watch Jenny and… Doctor… Garrett… do their best for the girl, but her wounds are severe. She's been brutally raped and repeatedly stabbed. From where I stand I can see a perforation of the major intestine, and a sucking chest wound. Those are only two of so many wounds. I have only the barest ideas of how to treat those for one of my sword sisters. I have no idea what to do for an Ape.

Part of me recognizes that my indifference is no longer acceptable. What if that was Jenny? Any or all of those wounds could be inflicted in a fight. Would I let my own ignorance of how to treat them kill her?

Now I hear echoing police whistles in the distance. Thank the Goddess! Policemen start to arrive, too little and far too late, but they can hold lanterns and carry things. Doctor Garrett shows no hesitation in ordering them about. 

The third to arrive is Constable Palmer. I have rarely been so pleased to see a male Ape before! The Ape called Anderson returns with him. I think he may be the doctor’s mate, as he returns to her side, ready for further orders. 

The constable greets me, and I give him a carefully edited version of the story. Fortunately Jenny, concentrating on the poor young Ape, doesn’t contradict me on any point.

Shortly, afterwards the carriage arrives. The police seem to be momentarily at a loss on how to carry the girl, but I give my cloak to Constable Palmer and under Doctor Garrett’s direction, they are able to slip it beneath her body, roll up the edges, and carry the girl out of the alley. Constable Palmer himself holds her head steady in a firm but gentle grip. Jenny stays with them, still applying pressure to a wound, and still tight in the girls’ clasp.

At the end of the Alley, Jenny glances... towards me. She doesn’t look directly at me, and she certainly doesn’t try to meet my eyes. “Ma’am, she won’t let go…I think I better stay with her…?”

I know full well I should not let her out of my sight right now. She may never come back. On the other hand, not all leashes are physical; my only chance now is to demonstrate that I trust Jenny to come home. Even if deep down, I do not really believe that she will.

“Then remain with her.” I ask Doctor Garrett, “May Jenny go with you?” 

The doctor glances up at me, and I see in her eyes that she already knows what will likely come. “She’s been steady so far helping with the girl. If she’s up to it, then she may stay.”

I pull out my purse and give it to Anderson, exchanging a few soft words with him. My focus though is on Jenny. Who is still not looking at me. Anderson sees my distraction, and misinterprets it. “I assure you that we will keep her safe. What about you Madame?” 

“We…. I live close by. I will stay with Constable Palmer and return with him, the police station is close to my flat.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home all right, sir.” Palmer adds. “It’s enough for you to worry about the girls.”

The police are able to slip the girl, cloak and all, onto the floor of the carriage, Jenny scrambling in to crouch on the floor beside her. The doctor and her mate enter as well, and just before the door shuts, Jenny glances up, but her eyes are still avoiding me. I sigh quietly.

“Good night, Jenny.” I say, loud enough for her to hear.

The reply is a very quiet, “Good…night. Madame.” 

I watch Doctor Garrett-Anderson’s carriage roll away into the darkness. I frightened Jenny so very badly this time. I’ve proven myself to be a dangerous killer and a monster who eats human flesh.

I gave the doctor’s mate a full purse, in case Jenny needs money for a Hansom Cab, for food or for a place to sleep. I gave Jenny no reason to return to me. I barely told her Good-bye. 

I stand alone on the pavement, as the voices of the police fade to murmurs in the alley. I need to face the fact that due to my 'inhuman' actions tonight, it’s very likely that I will never see Jenny again.

***


	4. Coming Clean – Part 2 - July 1881

Thursday July 7, 1881

 

All the police find of my prey are some torn clothes and a bloody knife near a sewer cover. They only shake their heads. I expect that whatever is left of it will wash up in the river and either the river men or the Mudlarks will find it and claim the small reward for finding a body. More Apes acting like animals. Still, I don’t begrudge the scavengers the money. Most of them need the pittance to survive, as few will bother to employ them in better paying tasks. Many Apes seem to hate each other as much or more than I feel contempt for them. To my advantage as far as the police know the Ape escaped and may strike again.

Only I know the truth. 

And Jenny.

Part of me is naturally worried for my own safety, but the rest is almost… indifferent. I now possess a great deal of Ape currency; a result of our recent raids on the Black Scorpions banks and finances. Better, I have my own account at the Bank of England, and a slight acquaintance with Apes in positions of authority or power that I can likely influence enough that they will be able to confuse others while I make my escape. I am wiser now than I was years ago when the only defences I had against Ape anger and hatred were the tunnels and sewers of this city, and the power of my claws and venom. Now I could go to a new city in Great Britain, or perhaps go abroad and start again. I always enjoyed travelling, and my time with The Doctor was enlightening. Perhaps I could journey as far as the East Indies or Asia, and start anew!

Although that would be easier with an Ape to assist me. Jenny spoils me a little as she has makes my life so much more… comfortable. She has a solid practical nature that nicely balances her love of stories and heroes. For a young Ape she is very intelligent. It’s not that she is well-versed in literature, though her reading and writing skills are improving. Nor does she possess a deep understanding of military strategy, yet she does grasp basic combat tactics very well. And she cannot discourse on the finer points of biochemistry or advanced physics. No, Jenny possesses a much more valuable and important expertise: she understands the English monetary system of the late nineteenth century. Almost as important, she can clean, keep account books, tend wounds and sew. And cook tea, boiled eggs and soft bacon. I can do almost none of those things.

Perhaps my best course of action would be to locate the female Ape Doctor’s dwelling and snatch Jenny back. But could I keep her by me for long against her will?

Most likely not, or at least not without an ongoing struggle with my mischievous little monkey. While I am stronger and more intelligent than either the Black Scorpions or her father, Jenny possesses her own sort of cunning. She has outwitted adults seeking to do her harm in the past. At the least, she would do her utmost to escape if she did not wish to accompany me. She would almost certainly report my deadly ways as soon as she had even the slightest chance.

However, given the contempt many males Apes in this society display for females and hatchlings, will anyone even believe Jenny if she tells them that I am a monster? Thackeray might listen, but Abernathy would simply be at a loss. Or will they mutter darkly about a hatchling who has seen too much violence and death in her young life, and decide she should be confined ‘for her own good.’ Even I have heard the terrible whispers of the places where these animals keep those they consider ‘of unsound mind.’ Jenny has suffered enough from Ape cruelty, just as I have. If that happens I’ll rescue her. She would be far better off with me, despite the differences between us.

If she doesn’t manage to escape on her own first that is. Which I admit would not surprise me.

I will wait until morning, and then see what needs to be done to protect my existence and recover my young human.

***

Shortly after dawn, I lie alone in my bed for the first time in months, listening to the cooing of the pigeons. I barely dozed last night, worrying what will happen to me now, and about Jenny.

My flat is at the rear of the building, so the noises in the street are muffled. Yet I can hear someone walking up the stairs and entering the small hallway. It’s too early for Mrs Brown to be up. Three knocks sound on the door, then stop. That’s Jenny! She’s come home!

I’m up and open the door before I even think to cover my face. Jenny is alone, a fact that surprises me, I admit. I was almost expecting half the police in London to be with her.

“Morning, Ma’am,” Jenny says in a tired voice. “I’ve got your purse and your cloak. I’ll need to wash that for you, it’s a bit bloody.” 

I can only roll my eyes. “The cloak’s not important! You don’t sound right! What happened with the…girl?”

Jenny just looks at me for a very long moment, with no expression on her face. Finally she says, “She died without waking up again. Never even learned her name.”

I have no notion of what to say to that. Finally I settle on “Well, that’s too bad. You worked so hard to help her. ” 

“I …” Jenny looks up at me, and there is something dark in her eyes. Suddenly, she looks… older. “You know ma’am, it dawned on me while I watched her… bleed to death inside and out…that she could have been me. Would have been me a time or two. If not for you, Madame Vastra.”

Despite five years of living with a travelling troupe of third rate thespians, I still find the emotion in Ape voices difficult to ‘read’, but there’s something in her tone… as if she can’t decide whether to thank me, curse me, or break down and cry.

“What happened… last night?” Jenny continued. “In the Alley? I can see why you ripped his heart out. If I was strong enough, might have done the same thing meself. Murdering Bastard.”

It takes me a moment to understand that Jenny means the beast, and not me. I look at her carefully, and ask, “Do you want me to tell you now, or after you’ve slept?”

“Will you bother to tell me?”

“I will give you a full explanation later in the day, if you ask for it.” I cock my head and ask “Have you slept at all?”

“Nodded off in the cab on the way back here.”

“Is that sufficient to let you function properly for the day?”

“Doubt it.”

I agree with her assessment; Jenny is falling asleep on her feet, and it is making her irritable. She’s starting to sound like me.

She turns to hang up my cloak, and a folded piece of paper falls to the floor. Jenny scoops it up, and brushes it off. “Ah! This is for you.”

Jenny hands me a note from Doctor Garrett-Anderson. It is terse and to the point: ‘Your maid is exhausted and dispirited due to the death of the young women we were trying to save. Let her sleep, eat if she wants to and keep her warm. If she wants to talk, listen to her or find someone who will. Bring her around to my practice next week; I want to make sure she is well, and we have things to discuss.’

I frown. I’m not sure I want another doctor interfering in my life. However it may be advantageous to have a human doctor who can attend to Jenny if she becomes sick or injured.

If she chooses to stay. And if I choose to let her live.

There is no doubt about it; Jenny has suddenly become a very unpredictable factor in my life. She knows far too much about me. I’d meant to tell her more, of course, but in a careful, controlled way. Ease her into the idea of what I really am. Give her just enough to let her choose whether to stay or go, and leave us both safe.

That plan went to hell because of a murderous Ape and my own violent temper. The Doctor was correct when he told me that ‘Anger is always the shortest distance to a mistake. And Jenny may need to pay a very high price for my mistake.

Well, I need to think this through. What do I do next?

First things first. I need time to re-form my plans, and Jenny needs rest. “Go to bed and get some sleep,” I order her.

“Can’t ma’am. I’m all over dirt.” Instead, Jenny sits in the chair. “I’ll just take a few winks here, and I’ll be good to go, honest!”

I could argue the point, but in her own way, Jenny is as stubborn as I am. So instead I simply respond, “As you wish,” and then sit at the bottom of the bed with a book to read and wait.

Within minutes Jenny is fast asleep and almost falls out of the chair before I can catch her. I scoop her up in the old blanket; any dirt or blood is far less important than Jenny’s well-being, and we’ll have more soon enough new blankets that the sacrifice of this old one is nothing. I lay her on the bed and she curls up near the wall without waking. Interesting. She always sleeps that way.

Usually I think nothing of it, as her method of sleeping leaves more room on my bed for me. However now I realize something else about it. She sleeps facing the wall, a slight space there. I can almost see her siblings, cuddled up next to her between Jenny and the wall, all of them sleeping on a pallet on the floor of her family flat. Jenny protecting the little ones. And all of them as far out of reach as possible from an adult in a temper.

A temper such as the one she knows full well also I possess, even though I have never hit her outside of training. And now she knows I am far more dangerous than her father. I sit back in the chair, and watch her sleep. Despite all of that, she willingly returned, and almost apologized for the blood on my cloak!

Now in the quiet of my flat, listening to Jenny’s even breathing as she sleeps, I’m simply stunned. All I can focus on is the thought: “Jenny came back! Jenny came back!” She’ll be lucky if I ever let of my sight again!

If I don’t need to kill her first.

*******

I wake up on the bed, and see Madame Vastra reading quiet like in the little wooden chair. The day is plenty warm, but I can hear a tiny fire softly crackling away. As I shift a bit, Madame looks up from her book, stares at me for a long moment, then reaches over and puts our little pot of water on the hob to boil.

I feel groggy and sad too. My voice is rough when I work up the nerve to speak. “I was a coward last night. I ran. And I wasted time. Ma always said “Help now, Faint later.”

“Your mother would point out that you did help. And so far as I remember, you did not faint.” Madame did that strange sort of head-circle she sometimes does, and then focused on me again.

“Jenny, grown A.. men have run screaming in fear at the mere sight of my face. You discovered me committing a truly violent act against a fellow..human. I was not dismayed that you ran. You might notice that I was expecting it. I was, however, surprised at how quickly you recovered your wits. Within minutes… and yes I know it felt like longer, but it wasn’t… within minutes you were helping that young woman.”

“That man weren’t no human. He was a monster. But what happened in the alley? You said you’d tell me.”

“There’s not much to tell. Your sharp hearing picked up the sound the beast… attacking the girl. When we stopped, it only took me a moment to smell blood and then I had a reason to investigate, and I stopped the filthy Ape.”

I just shake my head. “Still… sorry I screamed. Sorry I ran, I just... was surprised and scared and couldn’t think right. Thought you’d been hurt… and then…”

“You found out that I’d killed him.” I wince. Madame can be awful blunt sometimes.

“Not that really. Seen you kill with good reason before. As I recall, there were a couple of Scorpions who were beating me and who wanted to do worse ‘till you stopped ‘em. Last night though, well… eating his heart was a bit much.”

I take a deep breath. This next bits gonna be tough. Ma taught me a little bit about the differences between words, even if I often forget some of it. I take a deep breath and ask the question I’ve been wondering about all night: “Was what happened last night a reason for killing him, or an excuse for killing him?”

Madame nods, as if she’s pleased by the question. Or maybe the fact I know the difference ‘tween the meanings. “It was a reason. He attacked the girl with intent to kill. When I entered the alley, he saw me coming. He even waved his ridiculous little weapons at me, and made some remark about waiting my turn. I ignored his words, tore his heart out, and yes, I ate it in front of him as he watched. That was the last thing he saw. His heart being eaten by a female. I thought it a nice balance myself.”

“Right, o’course, make sense ma’am.” Now I really am feeling a bit faint. “It’s all the same I suppose; A bite of heart, a taste of tongue, a morsel of liver, a scrap of sausage…” I really want to ask her why she went for his heart, and not the more… obvious target. But I find I don’t quite have that much courage.

From her nods, I can see that my poor joke goes right over her innocent ridged head again. It usually tickles me to tease her like this, even though I know I’m being cheeky. Someday she’s gonna catch on to these cracks, and I am going to catch so much trouble. But meanwhile it’s great fun for me. Or in this case, at least it keeps my thoughts off the blood for a moment. But I can’t pay it no mind forever.

But there’s one question I’ve got to ask, even if I pay dearly for it.

“So… you don’t usually eat people, do you?”

“I prefer fresh meet when I can get it, as you are aware, but no, it’s an occasional indulgence only. Last night, by attacking the girl, the beast became my just prey.”

“’Just’ prey? He might not have been much of a man, but…!”

“Rather, my ‘rightful’ prey I suppose would be correct. By the terms of my atonement for the lives I have taken and the debt I owe, I am charged with protecting the…humans of this world. So the vast majority of you are usually off-limits. Only those who break your laws, and specifically those who are violent, or who directly threaten me or those under my protection, may I kill.”

“You’re what?” I perk up at that. “You protect people? Why didn’t you tell me? That’s an excellent thing! That’s what I want to do too! You’re a real hero! Know you helped save me when I was little and that was years ago! How many people have you rescued since then? Dozens?”

“It’s not important.”

“Oh c’mon, please? There’s me, twice, and Mr Thackeray, and then me again from the thugs and the Scorpions, and the two young servants from the fire in the house the week before last, and me too when I fell half asleep putting out the fire, and Mr Maxwell, and you tried to help the girl last night… that’s five people and me a few times now in just a few months. Oh, and you fetched me to help the children and their nurse with the sleepy gas. So that’s eight. Who else?”

“Ummm...,” and suddenly Madame is avoiding my eyes, “I rescued a young dog for a hatchling once. Does that count?”

“A puppy? Sure, but how many peop…” I stop and frown at her. “Wait… do you mean to say… Madame! Between the time you helped me five years ago, and when you saved me from the Scorpions back in March, didn’t you help anyone else?”

“I may have chased off a few Apes who were harassing females but mostly I’ve kept to myself.”

“Ma’am, you really don’t like people very much, do you? Doesn’t sound like you’re keeping to the terms of your ato…ato… debt very well,” I grumble at her.

“Atonement is the word you wanted. And the term included an important provision: I could start when the time was right for me to do so.”

“And when will that be?” I ask. “It’s been over five years!”

“From the list you gave me a moment ago, apparently the right time to start was the evening of the first Saturday in March of this year.”

“Oh. Right.” Ouch. That night she saved me from Chang and his men, come to collect what my Da had sold to them. Namely me.

“What are you... atunin…um…in debt for?”

“I am atoning for a blood debt. I killed humans that you would consider innocent.”

“Innocent? Why would you be killing people who hadn’t done you wrong?”

“Because I believed that they had wronged me. I believed that anyone who rode on the underground was responsible for the death of my people.”

“Oh… Sell Anne Carnations,” I can’t help but sigh. “What a dark thing to be talking about on a sunny day. Last night and today are not working out near as nice as I planned. Poor way to say ‘Thank you’ for putting up with me all these weeks afore I leave you.”

“Leave me?” Madame sounds a bit alarmed. Can’t be, must be my own wishing she cared a little bit if I stay or go.

“Well, I’m not going far. Spoke with Mrs Brown t’other day. She has a little room she can rent to me. Not near as big as this one, but the rent’s not bad, and I can keep cleaning for her and cleaning and mending as you need. I just won’t be under foot all the time. You’ll even have your bed to yourself again. That’s good, right?”

Madame Vastra stares at me for a long time, barely blinking. Finally she simply says, “Even before last night, I knew that you were at a point where you must choose whether to remain or leave. However, if you are to choose to stay near me, then there are things that you need to know, and your courage in returning today has earned you that honour. If you wish to learn, then come with me. Bring your little lantern, you’ll need it.”

Hmmm. That likely means we’re going underground. Madame straps on her sword before reaching for her other light cloak. Good idea. There’s all sorts of dangerous people and animals in the tunnels. I make sure I have my knives, both the big one, and a smaller one that a young thug dropped during the Masked Lady adventures. Ready for anything, I am.

I start to grab my little bundle of clean clothes as well, but she waves it off. “Leave that. You won’t need it.” Blast, no bath today, I guess.

***

We walk over to the Mansion House station, and Madame buys us fares on the Underground Railway around to Baker Street, switching trains at Kensington High Street Station. When we get off at Baker Street, she keeps me beside her as the rest of the people getting off the train rush for the exit. Once the steam train has left the station and the platform is clear, she leads me to the end of the platform to the train tunnel and then down into darkness. Most of the light is from the station behind us.

We walk a short distance, then turn off into another tunnel. Both tunnels are like big tubes, rounded on the sides and top. This one is even darker than t’other, and dry leaves and old newspapers are scattered across the tracks. This part isn’t used much I guess. I take a moment to light the lantern, then follow Madame again. In all of this, she’s barely said a word.

We walk a bit more. It’s almost silent down here. I can hear a train in the distance, and our footsteps echo with the clack o’ the rocks around the tracks and the crunch of dead leaves. Water slowly drips somewhere. Can’t hear any voices.

Nice and private. Quiet as a grave. It’s cool down here too, and I shiver a little bit.

Madame Vastra stops and says, “Sit down and listen. There are things you need to know.”

I sit on a bit of the rail, and put down the lantern. If a train comes through here, I’ll feel the rail shaking and get out of the way. The tunnel is narrow, and there isn’t really anywhere else to sit. 

Madame paces back and forth for a moment, then turns and looks around her. She looks… sad. “Do you understand that I am not human? That I am a member of a reptilian species that long predates Apes… Humans?”

“You mentioned once that you’re a Lizard from Dawno’time. Thought you meant somewhere in Scotland.”

“Scotland? Why would you think…never mind.” She sweeps her arm around. “You were correct earlier. I don’t like Apes. And while part of that is simple contempt for a species that I well remember as being inferior to mine, part of it is because your people, in their ignorance and arrogance, slaughtered my clan and my sword-sisters.”

“This space around you, this tunnel…this is where I slept for millions of years. Where I would still be sleeping, if the A…humans had never built this place. This is not simply a tunnel.”

Madame Vastra gave a great groan, and keeps going on, “This is the site of a massacre. This tunnel, the Apes that planned it, and the Apes that dug it, killed my family. I am the only one who survived.”

Uh oh. ‘Quiet as the Grave’ was right. Too right. Madame Vastra is remembering, and I think I’m not going to enjoy her story.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> The 'Coming Clean' section of 'Movin' On Up' was originally drafted to be two chapters long. It will now be three chapters as Vastra's feeling chatty. The next chapter will be posted within the next two weeks.
> 
> Doctor Elizabeth Garrett-Anderson (from Chapter 3) was the first Englishwoman to qualify as a physician and surgeon in Britain (1865), the co-founder of the first hospital staffed by women, the first dean of a British medical school, the first female M.D. in France, the first woman in Britain to be elected to a school board and, as Mayor of Aldeburgh, the first female mayor and magistrate in Britain. She was born in 1836. Married to James George Skelton Anderson (a shipping magnate) in 1871, and had three children. Died in December 1917 at the age of 81. After Elizabeth Garrett passed her exam in 1865, the Society of Apothecaries changed the rules so that no other woman could take the exams. In 1876 Parliament was passed an act to allow women to enter the medical professions. (Notation for sticklers: Dr. Garrett-Anderson was the first Englishwoman to qualify as a physician and surgeon in Britain who identified as a woman: Dr. James Barry (d. 1865 - the same year Dr. Garrett passed her exam) identified as male.)
> 
> "Sell Anne Carnations" - Jenny is indulging in a bit of cockney rhyming slang (hint: she's swearing again.) This is a made-up variation; if anyone know if there is an widely used version of what Jenny is saying, please pass it along to me.
> 
> “Madame was accidently awoken by an extension to the London Underground” says Jenny in the “Madame Vastra Investigates” mini-spode, and of course the Brilliant Book 2012 weighs in with a clipping about people being attacked ‘on the newly opened Metropolitan Underground Railway which passes close to the Zoo at Regent’s Park.” The clipping continues that the attacks occur “as the train passed through tunnels near Baker Street.” The Metropolitan Railway extension to Swiss Cottage opened in April 1868, and originally there were trains that turned off from the main line (now part of the Circle Line) and went up the extension. As Madame says, those trains stopped running in 1869. I just use a different interpretation as to WHY they stopped running.


	5. Coming Clean - Part 3 - Thursday July 7, 1881 (Continued)

Madame Vastra’s tossed back her veil so she can see better in the dim tunnel, and just the faintest bit of light glints on her green scales. The flicker from my lantern is tiny and all the rest is shadows. “When this tunnel was built,” she explains, “it connected the Underground’s new extension to Swiss Cottage with the Inner Circle line through the Baker Street station.”

I knew a little about that. Da once told me that years ago, when I was really small, we took a trip on the Underground. He said we’d gone on the train that switched ‘tween the old line and the new line north, but he and Ma didn’t enjoy the ride. He looked at me sort of funny when he said it; guess I spent the trip crying, but I was less than a year old at the time, and I honestly don’t remember anything about the trip. Wasn’t happy at the thought that I’d spoiled their fun though. ‘Specially as it would have cost a fair bit of cash, and that was always hard to come by. 

Madame was ‘dug up,’ I guess, when work started on this tunnel. She and her sisters were guards for their city. They were sleeping here for a really long time, but the tunnel was dug using a lot of blasting powder to help loosen up the earth. Some Swedish fellow was testing a new explosive that day, and it blew up their barracks. Somehow Madame Vastra woke up. She was half-buried, and had to dig herself out, then found a bunch of tunnel diggers hacking at the gear that kept their sleep machines running. She went after the workers, trying to stop them, but all they saw was a huge hissing lizard. They were awake and healthy, had shovels and picks, and they defended themselves. Madame was unarmed, groggy with sleep and out-of-shape after a ‘million year’ nap and barely got away from them when they got over their surprise. 

I can only shake my head. “You thought it was an attack. They killed your family. Pretty sure I’d be upset too! Did any of the rest of your kin wake up?”

“So far as I know, I am the only member of my species that is alive and awake at this time. Worse, I am certainly the last surviving member of my clan. We were distinguished, but there were never very many of us.” 

“Disting…? You mean you were toffs? You really are a lady?”

“Not the way you mean the word, no. We were warriors, diplomats, scientists and leaders.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if she was a royal, like a duchess or a queen, but she’s going on. “The extension opened in the spring of 1868, and this tunnel was used for a little more than a year. However there were no trains through here after 1869.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“The railway told the public that it was because the schedule was difficult to maintain. In fact it was closed because there were reports of an escaped alligator from the zoo. It caused a number of deaths.” She looks both sad and a bit, well, like Johnny use to if Ma caught him doing something after Ma had told him not to. Like he still thought it was the right thing to do. 

“You. You killed innocent people on the trains? Fer no reason?”

“Me.” Madame shakes her head. “And I had very good reasons. Or so I believed.” 

“When I first awoke, I despised Humans. My family, my sisters, my clan, they were all killed by human recklessness. It took years for me to understand that their deaths were an accident; that it never occurred to your people that anyone could survive underground for centuries, let alone thousands or millions of years. But has never stopped the pain I feel remembering their deaths.” 

***

“After I cleaned out the rats and mice in the tunnels, finding enough food to eat became a challenge. I took to attacking the underground trains that passed through the area. Not all the time of course; if I have… a large meal then I don’t need to eat as often as your people. I believe I… caused five or six deaths. The railway company soon put search groups in the tunnel to capture ‘the animal,’ but they never succeeded,” she says with a touch of pride.

“This continued for several months. My final attack was on a female, her mate and their tiny hatchling. I was hungry; the hunters had kept me away from the train tunnels for some time, and I saw a chance to kill the adults to honour my sisters, and take the child for a later meal.”

I can’t help it, I shiver at her words and it’s not from the cool air here. Between her people and mine, this tunnel’s seen an awful lot of death. She didn’t care about killing a baby or her parents. At least not then she didn’t. Now? Well, I guess I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t started to care just a little bit. In her own off-hand lizard-type way.

“I waited until the train entered this tunnel and then slipped into the car and attacked.” Madame shrugs, and a little bit of humour enters her voice. “Or at least, I tried to.”

“What happened?”

“I was tackled by a Doctor; or rather, The Doctor. He looked like an Ape, but he was not from this world. Yet he knew my name, and who spoke words I could understand. He even had a… well… a token to prove that I should listen to him.”

“He talked like your people talk? And what do you mean 'Not from this world?' You mean he's a foreigner, like the Black Scorpions?"

“My people never uttered half the babble the Doctor can in any three sentences. However, he spoke to me in the words of my people, in English to my terrified near-victims, and even claimed he could understand the little hatchling’s gurgling. Nonsense, of course, but then The Doctor often speaks nonsense.”

“Ah, the little tyke must have been screaming something fierce, you frightening it like that!”

Madame Vastra nodded. “Fierce is the right word, and if The Doctor told the truth, then it seemed more concerned about everyone but itself; The Doctor kept telling it that no, he wouldn’t hurt ‘the scared green lady’, no, ‘the scared green lady’ wouldn’t hurt 'Maenda,' and no, it couldn’t 'box the green lady’s ears’ if I didn’t stop scaring 'Maenda'; its fists and my ears were both too small.” She smirked, “Give the little thing credit, the way it was flailing about, it was certainly ready to try. I disliked the implication that I was afraid, even if it was true, and I hissed at the hatchling. The Doctor turned and warned me ‘Behave! Or I’ll drop you a few decades in the future, and you two can sort it out, and frankly you’ll lose even if you win!'" Madame shook her head, "I never did sort out what he meant by that, or who 'Maenda' was."

Madame took a deep breath, and let it out again with a gusty sigh. “The Doctor, well in effect he saved me from your people, and the humans from me. I went with him, leaving these tunnels behind, and I travelled with him for a while. We went to far off… places and saw what new and different civilizations. The travelling strengthened and calmed me, and I learned to control my hatred for humans.”

“Eventually he gave me a choice, return to this ‘London,’ or to my own people, before it all began; knowing what was to come and not being able to do anything about it. It was a very difficult decision. Eventually I chose to return to this city in this time. Here at least, there is the illusion of a future.”

“Since then, I have never returned to this tunnel. There are too many memories of what I lost.”

Madame goes on to paint a picture in my head with her words, describing a city and a world the likes of which I’ve never heard of before. All graceful spires, clean streets and lots of light. She mentions her soldier sisters and friends from a place she calls ‘The Academy’, now all gone to dust. 

With each word she speaks, Madame Vastra seems to sink deeper and deeper into a trance. I keep quiet, my eyes and ears wide open and my mouth shut tight. She’s most likely never told another human being about this awful thing. 

There is nothing I could say that would make her feel any better. All I can do was sit still and listen. Too often, that’s really all a friend can do.

Eventually Madame has works herself into a bit of a state. Her voice echoes through the tunnel, strong and sad. "Our great sleep became our destruction. My clan died in darkness, alone, each an arm’s length from the next. So much blood and death. Never truly avenged.” 

The candle in my little lantern is dimming, but I hear the soft hiss of Madame Vastra drawing her sword. With a slow, clean movement, she moves her sword to a ‘ready’ position she sometimes uses. Right foot forward, left back. Balanced between the two. Shoulders square and facing front. Hilt about tummy level, blade angled so the tip is on level with her shoulders. Both hands wrapped around the hilt. I frown a bit; the hilt’s far too small for her to do it properly. Need to have a look at that. 

She must have seen something in the tunnel. It’s a bit creepy down here. 

I scramble up and scoot over close to Madame’s left hand, stopping a half-pace in front with my back to her, facing whatever is out there. Then I draw my big knife, and listen; looking for shadows moving in the tunnels. 

A minute or so later, I whisper, “Don’t hear anything Ma’am. Did you see something?” I turn a little so I can see her, but now her sword is resting on against her shoulder, and she is looking at me with an almost bewildered expression, not on guard at all. 

“Why are you there?” She asks. That’s an odd question, even for my very odd mistress. Must be a test.

“Thought I’d better stay clear of your sword arm, Ma’am,” I explain, “so I came over here. Did I do it wrong?” I glance behind her. “We’re pretty close to the wall, didn’t think I could guard your back. Guess I should have tried?”

She stares at me for a long moment, then her whole body sort of shudders. Still staring at me, she puts her sword away by touch alone, in an easy, crisp swing and glide. I want to learn to do that! Her eyes never leave mine.

“No Jenny, it was a good guess about what to do,” she says quietly. “The…threat was just in my head. There’s no one here but us.” 

I nod and put my knife away, looking around. “If all your people are buried beneath us, it’s a right shame that there’s nothing to mark their graves. Not even a headstone or a pile of rocks. At least we could put up a wooden board for a bit, since Da paid to have the family buried. Made a little one for my sister and brother. Da made one for Ma and the baby when we lost them.” 

Madame Vastra simply says, “That’s… not part of my people’s beliefs.” She's still looking at me funny, as if she can't really believe she sees me.

“Ah…, sorry Ma’am. Only meant to… I don’t know… ” 

Madame Vastra sighs, and looks around the empty and forgotten tunnel, and after a moment says, “Your people died here as well. You remember your dead with a pile of rocks?” 

“Sometimes ma’am. There’s a word for it… a cat run or care ran..”

“A carin?”

“That sound right,” I agree with a nod. 

“Very well then. We will work together to make something to remember them all. I’ll write an inscription on the wall in my people’s language, if you’ll gather some stones. Make a small one; no higher than your knee. It won’t hurt anything, and it will give any workers who come through here all the more reason to clear out quickly. They’ll most likely believe the place is haunted.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Happy to help, I trot away to gather small rocks from around the old rails while Madame starts to work on the wall. On the third or fourth trip I see a spot where water has gotten in, and washed away a lot of the dirt and rocks from under part of the track. There’s something a bit shiny there, and I move a larger stone, to see if there’s a good looking rock to cap the pile with.

Wow! Instead there’s a piece of metal, sort of like part of a shattered bowl. In the bottom is a big round piece of black glass. I turn it over. There’s a scowling demon face staring back at me! I let out a yelp and drop it. 

Madame Vastra turns and hurries over. I feel awful silly, and pick it up again. “Sorry ma’am, just startled a bit. Awful fierce looking thing.” I turn it so she can see it better.

Madame Vastra stops, and just stares. Now that I really see it, it looks like the half the face of a huge scowling lizard, with a single big black eye. Looks like a bit of sculpture. Or a mask, I think. If it was on a face, it would cover the right side; seem to be split in half, and then broken off just below the mouth. So it would cover… maybe a third of the face? It’s covered in mud and there’s an old deep scratch in the metal just under the eye. 

“But… that’s impossible,” whispers Madame Vastra, as she takes it from my hand. She stares at it, at me, and then back at the mask. 

“Do you know what it is?” I ask.

“It’s one of my people’s battle masks,” Madame replies, “but more importantly, this mask looks just like one given to me years ago by The Doctor. It’s in my chest back at the flat! Jenny, in the name of the Goddess, what have you found?” 

***

Madame Vastra hurries us through our little service, with me saying a short prayer for the humans, and Madame wailing like a ghost for her people. I think she might have been singing. Or trying to, anyway. Sounded very strange. Maybe that’s how they like it though.

Afterwards we walk back to towards the platforms at Baker Street and exit to the street. Then Madame hails a cab, and we quickly return to her flat. On the way, Madame has me take a good look at the mask, and I manage to clean a bit of the dirt off it. Madame doesn’t say much until we were inside the room, and she has her hat and netting off. Then she tells me to sit on the bed, and she takes the mask, wraps it up in a piece of old newspaper and puts it away in the tiny cupboard behind an old Gin bottle. 

After she’s done that, Madame Vastra goes to her chest at the foot of the bed and carefully opens it. The lid’s towards me, so I can’t see what’s inside. She gently lifts a heavy bag from the chest, sits at the table in front of me, and removes something wrapped in cloth. 

“You examined the other mask carefully, did you not?” I nod, and she continues, “Then take a close look at this, and tell me what you think.” She unwraps the bundle and puts it on the table in front of me. It’s another lizard-demon mask.

“Look at that! They could be twins, Ma’am.” I move to pick it up, but stop for permission before I touch it. At Madame's nod, I pick it up, and look it over real careful like. It sure looks like the one I found, there’s the same scratch and everything. “It’s broken in the same places and everything!"

"Why'd you put t'other one away?" I ask. "Can you bring it back out so we can see the two side by each?"

Madame shook her head something fierce. "No, I do not want these two objects near each other. Do not put them in the same bag, not even in the same trunk. Above all, and remember this well; make sure they never, ever touch."

"Why not?"

“Because they will explode, and we will die.” 

Well that’s a clear enough reason, even for me.

***

I turn the mask over, and see one thing that’s not the same: this one’s got squiggles painted inside. Madame explains that these are words written in her people’s language, and the message says: 

‘That’s enough  
Go with The Doctor  
Vastra’ 

Someone wrote her a personal note on the battle mask to get her attention! Madame said it was very effective, these masks mean a lot to her people’s warriors. Must get her to show me how to write her name in squiggles.

Madame Vastra tries to tell me WHY she thinks the two masks will blow up if they get near each other. Sound daft to me; as near as I can follow, they’re not two different masks; they’re the SAME mask; something about being from two different times. Both of them here at the same time is impossible, except here they are, and Madame isn't happy about it. But she’s very blunt that it's not my fault that's this happened. She took me into the tunnels; the masks were already in the same 'time,' she just didn't know it. All I did was find the mask. And while she's worried, she's actually rather pleased that I found it, and not someone else.

At one point, I get out my slate, and try to trace out what Madame is telling me. I end up with a couple of lines on my slate, and a bunch of dates. 

She was shown the mask by the chap she calls The Doctor in late 1868 or early 1869. She finally took his word that it is meant as a message for her. After that, she left the tunnels under his protection and travelled with him for several years. She returned to London in the early June of 1876, when Madame Vastra and her Doctor friend rescued me at the fair. When she left him, The Doctor gave Madame Vastra the mask and it’s been in Madame's chest since then. So far, easy. But Madame thinks the mask I found is the mask she was given, from Before it was given to her, ‘cause there’s no writing in it, and no trace that there ever was!

“Ma’am, near as I can sort out, the only way your Doctor friend could have given you this mask years in the past is if you or me or someone gave the one we found to him before he ever met you! That makes no sense! And ‘sides, who wrote the message to you? If it was this Doctor of yours, and he already knew you, why write the message and your name?”

“It’s not the Doctor’s hand writing,” Madame takes a deep breath then simply says: “It’s mine.”

Well, of course it is. I put my head in my hands. This is as bad as trying to learn Latin in school!

***

Madame tries to explain again how the ‘timelines’ as she calls them could cross. Eventually I beg off for the afternoon, asking for, well, time to try to sort out what Madame’s been telling me. She agrees and she says I’m not doing too bad, given that this is all new to me and sounds like she’s making up stories. But I don’t know why she’d bother, it’s not like she owes a young maid any details. 

But as usual, I am curious ‘bout something. So I ask.

“Ma’am, when we were down in the tunnel, you said your people don’t build monuments or gravestones. So then what is your usual way of com… com… remembering dead people?”

“To commemorate our people? We prefer a Blood Sacrifice.”

“You mean killing something?” When she nods, I grumble at her, “You did right enough of that at the time, didn’t you? All those poor folks who didn’t do a thing to you. Ma’am, now that you understand them a little better, do YOU consider those people you killed to be innocent?” 

“They were… not guilty of the crimes I ascribed to them.”

I sigh, because she is so close, but I haven’t the words or smarts to argue with her. “That’s not quite the same thing, though, is it? Well, you said the morning after I met you that when you kill people, they almost always deserve it. Should have sorted out for meself that means sometimes they don’t.”

“If it is any consolation to you, it has been… many years since I… took the lives of your people so easily.”

“Well ‘sides from that, if you wanted a blood sacrifice for your people, you should have told me. We could have brought a pigeon with us or some…thing…” I run out of words as I have a chance to think. I remember her look when she drew her sword against a threat that wasn’t there, as if she was seeing something only she could see. I stop and stare at her. 

“…half a mo…. You didn’t really see anything in the tunnel, now did you?” 

She’s trying not to smirk, but I can clearly see it on her face. 

“That’s not funny, damn it!” I holler at her. “I’m not a blasted chicken for the family pot, thank you very much!” 

Madame Vastra recoils a little. “No. Teasing you aside; I agree. You are not.” 

She shakes her head, “For a moment in the tunnel all I could smell was old blood, and the death rattle of my sword-sisters machines. They never even woke up. ” Then she glances up at me, and there is something gentle in her eyes. “When I drew my sword, you reacted on instinct. You moved to my side… no wait a moment,” and now she is frowning a little, “You moved so you were clear of my sword arm, but a little in front of me.” She looks at me now, astonished. “Jenny… were you trying to protect me?” 

“Like you said, didn’t think about it. Always got between Johnny and Annie and whoever was bothering them.” 

Madame looks at me for a long moment, really studying me carefully. I remember not to squirm. Finally she leans back, her head cocked, and asks, “Jenny, why did you come back here this morning? And return again with me just now after I told about… attacking A… humans in the tunnel all those years ago? Do you truly not realize how very dangerous I can be?”

I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to remember this. But Madame asked, and I should tell her at least a little bit.

“The morning after you rescued me, Ma’am, you said that it is easier to fight a monster in the light, than shadows in the dark."

"And you told me ‘You're not a monster.’ That you’d ‘fought monsters.’ That I was fierce, and a bit frightening, but just different.’ That I wasn’t a monster."

“And all of that was true.”

“I thought you meant the Scorpions. That you’d fought them.”

“And that I was just talking big? No. What I fought… well… the Black Scorpions didn’t frighten me so much after that. I got lucky.” 

I start shaking. I don’t want t’REMEMBER this. “One of the match girls from my factory was snatched in late January. I heard about when I snuck by to pick up some matchboxes to sell. No one could find her, but I asked around the streets a bit. Remember the two pickpockets we met t’other day at the tournament?” At her nod I keep going. “The girl, Suzy, disappeared about the same time. Nobody cared much o’course, except her brother, but it helped me sort out where to look around a bit.” I’m shaking like a leaf in a gale now.

“Jenny, stay with me, now. How did they catch you? How did you get away?”

“Didn’t catch me. Me and Donny, we tracked them. Almost thought it was a game at first. But then we found a den of, well, I don’t know what they were. I thought they were men. Not sure, now you’ve told me about there being… others out there. But these butchers were after women and children. The smaller of each, the better. So much screaming. We got Suzy out. Barely. The girl from my factory… it was too late for her.” 

“How? How did you get her out?”

“We used Cold. And Fire. Some hated one, some t’other.” I’m shaking so hard now. Madame is watching me, and she looks worried. For me. Can’t be. She don’t like humans. She don’t really like me. “We snuck in, untied Suzy, saw… what was left of the others, and got the hell out of there. They chased us, but we dumped a couple o’pans of coals from their stove and a barrel of slush on them and ran.”

“They are still out there then, whatever they are?”

"Yes, ma'am." I sigh. "We tried to tell the police; Suzy even took them to the spot while I watched." I can only shake my head. "It was cleaned up, and the police didn't believe her. They even threatened to arrest Suzy. Said that any more looking was a waste of time. That the women and girls where likely no better than they should be anyway."

I rub my eyes, trying not to cry at the memory. “Tired of damn fools telling me that it’s always the girls’ fault.”

"No wonder you panicked in the alley; the sight of me dealing rough justice reminded you those butchers! So you came back this morning so I can continue to protect you? Very wise."

“No, ma’am.”

“No?” Now she sounds surprised.

“No. Came back ‘cause you’re the only person in all of London who seems to give a damn about sometimes helping someone who needs it. So you’re the best person to teach me what I need to know so I can protect people. Least that’s what I thought until you told me you’d only rescued a puppy ‘tween the time you helped me at the fair, and you roughed up the Scorpions.” I can’t help the bitter note in my voice. She has so many smarts and such strength; she could be a real hero. But sounds like she’d rather eat people than help them. 

Madame peers at me closely, and starts shaking her head. “All right, enough for now! We should not be discussing this. It’s upsetting you and it is not something you can do anything about. You’re only a hatchling yourself! ”

Dr Garrett tried to do that too. Last night she didn’t want to tell me the girl was dying until I flat out TOLD her I saw most of my family die in front of me and I knew damn well what it looked like. I don’t know if she was more shocked or impressed by that. 

Now Madame, who eats people, for God’s sake, thinks poor little Jenny can’t handle the bloody truth about what sometimes happens. 

Stuff that!

“Stop it! Stop trying to protect me. I’m not a doll made of china!” I feel something come loose and I can’t hold back the words, even if it kills me. Or she does. 

“I’m tired of being told ‘if only you were a boy,’ or ‘you’re only a girl,’ or ‘you’re just a dockworker’s brat’ or ‘you’re just an Ape.’ All of which is just saying, ‘You’ll never be worth anything, so don’t bother to even try!’ And don’t you tell me people don’t think it; I can hear it in their voices All The Bloody Time!” 

“I’m tired of being told I’ll never be good enough to do stuff, without even havin’ the chance of being taught, or havin’ the chance to prove that I Can!”

“I know I’m young, but I’ll get older soon enough. I know I’ve still got lots to learn. But it’s different being told ‘you don’t know enough Yet,’ or ‘you’re not old enough Yet,’ or ‘you’re not strong enough Yet,’ than everyone thinking ‘You never ever will be smart enough, or strong enough, or brave enough, or whatever nonsense they come up with ‘cause their too damn lazy to actually THINK! Or treat me like a person, not a blasted pet!”

“I’m tired of not being taken seriously, especially by you! At least let me have the chance to win and fail on my own, and not just say ‘No!’ 

“Who the hell else is going to to help the street rats, the costermongers and the servants? Abernathy’s a dunce, Palmer’s too hide-bound, you… for God’s sake, you don’t even LIKE people except as a nice light snack… So teach me to do it. Teach me to protect them!” 

“These are My people, this is My city, and damn it, if anyone should be defending humans, no matter if they’re poor, or women, and the especially the children, it should be Me!”

“Either help me, or get the Hell out of my way!”

Finally I run out of steam, and all I can do is grumble, “And I can still smell blood from last night and shit from last week. I need a proper wash.”

“Jennifer Flint!” Oh that’s not good. Madame Vastra never uses my full name. She wouldn’t even know it if we hadn’t set up that bank account this week! Now it’s on three sets of permission slips!

I straighten up and at least try to look like I’m not a sullen child. “Yes… Madame Vastra?”

“Don’t be impertinent!” She scowls at me, “That was an unbelievably insubordinate and unruly rant.” I flinch inside. As I see it, every word I said was true, but I’ve done what Ma always warned me about. I’ve let me mouth run away from my sense. Now Madame’s cross with me. I just want to hang my head, but I won’t. I can’t give in just like that. If I give in that quick, I’ll never be any good as a hero. Even I know that. So I meet her eye and stay quiet. Let her rail or flail at me. As long as she doesn’t hit me too hard, I can take it.

She stares at me for a long moment. I just stare back, blinking from time to time. I don’t try to outstare her, but I don’t just fold either. 

I’m almost shaking again when she finally says, “It was also a fairly well stated argument. There is some justice to your dissatisfaction with your treatment in this society.” I jump in surprise, just a little bit of hope showing on my face. “I will give this some consideration. In the meantime, you mentioned something about ‘a proper wash?’

***

Turns out that Madame Vastra is still a bit spooked by the finding the mask. I understand: my head hurts a bit from all the talk about time-travel, ‘though it was really interesting too, and my throat hurts from yelling when I lost my temper. And I’m feeling chilled and smelly and I really don’t want to think about how sad Madame was in the tunnel. So I gather up the things Madame’ll need for a bath, and grab my own little bundle, and almost drag her out of the flat. We stop by the baker’s and the butcher’s and I pick up my orders and tuck them into my little basket for later, and then we’re off to Faulkner’s baths. It’s time for both of us to get proper and clean. 

I checked them yesterday when we were out walking, before all fury broke loose when we found the girl. These baths are private, so Madame Vastra won't be seen by anyone, and doesn’t need to hide once she’s in her bath room.

I chat a bit with the matron, making sure Madame will have lots of clean hot water, and even more important, plenty of privacy. I pay our shot, and the matron leads us over to the women’s baths. She shows us both how to control the water, both hot and cold, and gives Madame her towels and some soap. Once the Matron leaves, Madame Vastra keeps me back for a few minutes, reviewing the instructions, how much time she’s allowed to stay, where to hang her clothes, things like that. I think she a bit scared, not that she’d admit it, ‘cause all of this is really new for her. She’s in the middle of a lot of strangers too, even if they can’t see her ‘cause of the walls. I’m properly startled though when after we’ve reviewed all the mysteries of the bath, she starts stripping off her clothing without a thought. I yelp and get out fast. Honestly, I’m not sure if she has no notion of what’s proper, or just doesn’t care. Probably a bit o’ both. 

As for meself, I’d likely have used the cold plunge, but since Madame is having a bath, the matron lets me have the use of a hot shower for six pence. That’s still a treat for me; Madame Vastra likes me smelling clean, so I usually have a 'bucket wash' every day in the room when Madame is out. 

I wait outside the bathroom door for Madame Vastra to get settled in, then pop down the hallway for a quick hot shower, followed by some nice cool water against the building summer heat. Tunnels aside, it can get mighty warm during the day. Not looking forward to the days when I’m older and have to wear long dresses all the time. Or corsets. Lord, save me from the corsets!

***

After we're scrubbed and dressed in our fresh clothes, we head over to the Lincoln Inn Fields for a walk, and a chat in the sunshine, and to have a little snack from my basket. There's some fresh beef for Madame, and bread and cheese for me. Madame tries a little of each. She likes the nice sharp Cheddar, but doesn't like the bread so much. After a bit, she starts up our conversation again.

"Tell me more about this room you mentioned this morning. So far as I know, there are only four flats in the building. Mrs Brown has one, Bill the bartender has one, two of the barmaids share the other, and I have the smallest flat. So which one are you renting?"

"Mrs Brown said I could clean out the little room across the hall from yours, and put a spare pallet in there. It'll be plenty warm in the winter; there's no fireplace, but the chimney for Mrs Brown's flat goes through it to the roof. She said I can work out board with you or with her, or maybe a bit of each."

“Board? Ah, you mean food!” Madame looks thoughtful. “It’s been rather nice to try new ways of eating. I never thought of cooking food until you did it.”

“Didn’t your people get sick from bad food? You mentioned bugs, and cooking helps food last longer too.”

“No, we irradiated our food to kill parasites and to preserve it. Then we kept it chilled.”

“Irritated it? You mean you made it cross? Then chilled it? Like in a cold cellar, or an ice box? Heard of them, I think Mrs Brown has an ice box. Ice is pretty dear, though, you must have been fair rich!” 

“No, we weren’t that primitive. Our cold storage was not dependent of ice; there are other ways to cool things.”

“No Ice? How about that!” I take a moment to think about the idea, and what Madame said about the sleep machines her family were in. And then I realise a problem with her story, and what I know about her….

“Haf’ a mo, Madame! If your people are so clever and all, how come you use swords? Humans have guns now; if there were ever a fight between your people and mine, we’d knock you off in no time!”

“We did not use swords for fighting; our warriors used energy weapons,” 

“Energy? Like lightning? You had weapons that threw lightning bolts?” 

“Not quite, but very close. The point is this, among my people only hunters used swords. I use a sword now because at heart, I am a hunter.” 

“And what did you hunt? Or should I just make a good guess?”

“Ummm.. Raptors, which were small and dangerous reptiles of my time; not as advanced as my people. The dreadful Red Leech, which poisoned our water. And sometime mammals, such as your ape ancestors.”

"You mean like Gorillas and such? Big apes like that?

"Um...no your people were still very small back then, although fairly clever in their own way." 

“Thought so, ma’am. You’re telling me that you hunted a bunch of monkeys that couldn’t talk, had no weapons, and could barely fight back, but were rather bright.” I shake my head. “That was hardly sporting, now was it? Be like me tracking an escaped chimp from the zoo with a rifle. And what about the eating thing?”

“I eat what I kill, Jenny.” Madame sounds a bit miffed with me. “Any good hunter does the same. Only 'Humans' waste food, or hunt what they cannot or will not eat.” 

Time to back off and just tease her a little. “Well, ‘Madame Great Green Hunter,’ don’t expect me to start snacking on Black Scorpions, even if I do polish off one someday.” 

Madame shakes her head at my nonsense, and her veil sways gently back and forth. She leans back against the bench a little, relaxing. I decide to do the same, and just enjoy the warm sunlight and the cool shade of the tree over our bench.

It doesn't take long though for Madame Vastra's mind to catch up on the details. Eventually she cocks her head, and says, "That room you spoke about..." I could almost see her looking at her memories, tracing out the floor of the Gin Palace that her flat is on in her head. Finally she frowns, and looks at me.

"On our floor, there is my flat, and the storage room for the Gin-making supplies, and the barmaids' room. The main stairway is beside my flat. Past those stairs is the Necessary, tucked in the corner at the side of the building, so the back area is spared its stench. The only other things on our floor are the stairs to the roof, and the cleaning closet."

"Yes ma'am, that's where I mean."

Madame Vastra looked at me in something akin to disbelief. “Jenny, that’s not a room, that’s the cupboard under the stairs! It’s tiny! I'm not even sure if you will be able to store your new singlestick across the width of the place."

I can only shake my head. "I've mooched off your kindness far too long as it is. You offered to protect me until the Black Scorpions were done for. Now they pretty much are, and you should have your own room back. I can still trade cooking and cleaning for lessons, I don't want to give that up... if you're still willing to teach me after that awful fuss I kicked up this morning."

“As to that, if we are to continue your lessons, there is a difficulty with you moving into new quarters at Mrs Brown’s.”

“What’s that, Ma’am?”

“I won’t be there. I’m leaving the Gin Palace soon.”

“Ma’am?” What? Blast, I don’t mind walking to get to lessons, but the Gin Palace won’t be nearly as much fun if Madame Vastra’s not about. 

“Mr Thackeray is helping me find new lodgings. He introduced me to an ‘Estate Agent’ on Saturday, and we spoke again on Monday and Tuesday. There is a property west of the flat, near that very large building down the street, ‘St. Paul’s’ as you call it. It is a townhouse with a three year commitment. A Lease, I believe. It already has human furniture in place, although I can make changes as I wish. The owner is overseas, and may be interested in selling the… freehold?... to me at some point in the future.”

“That sound’s… well… it will be a nice change for you, Ma’am. You’ll have some privacy and more room for your books and things and…”

“One of my concerns is that the house is quite large. It will be more than I need, but it is well located.” 

“You’ll need servants…”

“There are very few that would stay with me for long once they discover that I am not… human. And there are far fewer that I can trust with my secrets, Jenny.” She stops and looks at me for a long moment…

“You asked me to teach you” She shakes her head. I can hear the frown in her voice. “The truth is, you are small, and you are weak, and you are young. And you are female. All of these your society counts against you.”

Blunt as always. I stiffen up. I can take the disappointment of being told ‘no.’ Least it won’t be as bad as what Da did to me.

“However…”

“To me, most humans are small. And compared to me, all of you are weak.”

True that. But what’s she really saying? 

“A good warrior needs to be more than simply large and strong. They must be clever, and you are. They must be brave, and you are that as well.” 

I don’t dare hope…

“Some of the best warriors I ever knew were not as strong, or as fast, or as big, as their peers. But they all understood how to use the abilities that they had. And that, I think, I can teach you.”

“And Jenny,” and now she is smirking at me again, “almost all of them were female. In my society, most warriors are females. Although we have many brave males as well.”

Madame Vastra nods to herself, making a decision. “Come with me. I can teach you. And I ne… can use your… company, your cleverness and your skills.”

“Ma’am?” She’s really asking me to stay with her? Oh please mean it!

“Come with me. You still wish to continue your lessons, correct? You wish to learn even more?”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“Then come with me. It is true that our lives may be full of danger, but the two of us can make a difference in your city. In Our city.” 

“You are bright and brave; and London is changing even if the … people don't realize it. I agree that you should have the chance to be more than most people expect.”

“You should stay with me. At least with me you’ll have a real room. Unless you truly wish to spend the rest of your life living in a closet?” Madame tilts her head to the side, as if considering options.

“Although if you prefer a small enclosed space, I suppose I could purchase a kennel for you…”

I can’t help but snap, “I’m not your bloody pet!”

“Language, Jenny!” Madame Vastra looks at me for a long moment, stern and veiled but somehow… gentle too. I was being teased again. “And no, you are not my pet. Even I recognize that now. You are not an animal, nor a toy. And you will not be my servant, even if you choose to serve me. You will be my assistant, my companion, and for now at least, above all else you will be my student. My apprentice, if you will. I will provide a room, food and clothes, and training, in return for chores, assistance and your knowledge of your people's ways. Do you accept that?” 

A smart person’d likely say that if I had a lick of sense, I’d run right now from the most dangerous woman in all of London.

To hell with being sensible.

“I’m going to get bossed around, am I right?” 

Madame Vastra draws herself up and nods regally. “Without question. I am still both your elder and your superior in arms. Despite that, are you interested in my proposal?” She tries to look bored at my reply, but I can see her twitching just a little bit in the hope I’ll say yes. 

Oh, two can play at that game.

I sigh and then pretend to think for a minute until I can see that Madame Vastra is getting a little worried, and trying not to show it. “The townhouse has its own bath…” she adds hopefully.

“Hmmm, that’s a nice point.” I let her dangle a moment or two more. “Well, I’ve had much worse offers of employment this year,” I can’t help teasing her back; I roll my eyes a little and huff, “I’ll take it.” Cheeky to the last, that’s me, and if Madame Vastra had a lick of sense, she’d toss me out on my ear. Ah well.

“Done,” says Madame Vastra. Neither of us have any sense, it seems. No wonder we get along so well. 

I can’t help grinning, and after a moment, through the veil, I can see Madame Vastra trying to smile back at me, baring her teeth wide while doing her best to not look like she’s going to attack. 

She needs practice, but that’s all right. She needs to learn how to smile properly, and I need to learn how to protect people.

This is going to be an awful lot of fun.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  
> The Goulston Street (Model) Public Washhouse first opened in 1849 in Whitechapel. It contained facilities to wash both clothing and people, and was designed to encourage cleanliness amongst the poor and working classes. Eventually ‘cold plunges’ (what North Americans call ‘pools’) were added. Much of Jenny’s description in Chapter 3 is from a description found on VictorianLondon.org. The Washhouse would later gain some notoriety when Alice Mckenzie’s body was found outside in July 1889. The baths finally closed in 1989.
> 
> From Charles Dickens (Jr.), Dickens's Dictionary of London, 1879: FAULKNERS, 50,Newgate-street. Hot and cold, 1s.; Plunge, 9d., Shower, hot or cold, 1s.; Turkish, 2s. 6d., after 5 p.m., 1s. 6d. ; Douche, 1s. The Turkish bath is open for ladies on Tuesdays and Fridays from 10 a.m. to 12.30 midday. The shower, if taken with another bath, 6d.
> 
> “Madame was accidentally awoken by an extension to the London Underground” says Jenny in the “Madame Vastra Investigates” mini-spode, and of course the Brilliant Book 2012 weighs in with a clipping about people being attacked ‘on the newly opened Metropolitan Underground Railway which passes close to the Zoo at Regent’s Park.” The clipping continues that the attacks occur “as the train passed through tunnels near Baker Street.” The Metropolitan Railway extension to Swiss Cottage opened in April 1868, and originally there were trains that turned off from the main line (now part of the Circle Line) and went up the extension. As Madame says, those trains stopped running in 1869. I just use a different interpretation as to WHY the stopped running.  
> ***  
> Next Chapter: For a pair of former bank-robbers, moving from a flat above a Gin Palace to a London Townhouse has some surprising challenges that require creative solutions.


	6. Movin’ On Up Part 1 - Our House, In the Middle of Our Street….

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is in the air.

On Friday, Madame Vastra and Jenny spent lesson time working with their new singlesticks on the roof. They’d tested them several times before, but only for short periods while they both became more familiar with the weapons. Today was a nice long session, practicing stance, and balance; cuts and blocks. They worked mostly at slow and half speed, as Vastra was still deciding if she should get a cage for Jenny’s head, such as the soldiers used at the Tournament. She thought it might be wise; Jenny was improving but she was still very new at defending herself, and Vastra sometimes forgot to pull her speed until the last moment, resulting in some rather unsettling near-misses to Jenny’s unprotected skull. She could tell that while Jenny was gamely carrying on, the girl was still skittish over Vastra’s revelations regarding her origins and the bloody and deadly things she’d witnessed this week. Hence the more involved lesson; Vastra thought a distraction was called for, and Jenny was responding well to the challenge.

After the lesson, they sat in the little alcove on the roof, and enjoyed the warm breeze. Madame Vastra put her netting aside and enjoyed the sun on her face. 

Once she caught her breath, Jenny’s curiosity, as usual, got the better of her. “You were saying yesterday about taking a row house near St. Paul’s Cathedral. That area’s pretty nice. Not as toplofty as the West End, but far better than my old haunts. Lots of offices near there.” 

“Yes, I understand that the area is mostly, what did the estate agent say? Ah yes! ‘Business Concerns.’ However there are several residences as well. I believe mine was originally built for a wealthy publisher. After it died, its male hat…child inherited it, and now it is leasing the building to me.”

“The publisher was likely a man, ma’am, so when he died, his son inherited. You need to work on that; sounds strange that you don’t remember the words so well.” Jenny cocked her head. “Hang on, Soames and Sherwin’s bank is close by there, right?”

“Correct. You have a good memory. I would still prefer to keep a watch on that place. The Black Scorpions may be broken, but to many of their allies are still roaming free.”

“When do we move in? Not sure it's a good idea to just grab our things and walk down the street to your new house. People might ask where you got enough money to afford it. And not that we have much else to pack, but if we’re moving… the notes, it’s going to take some time.” Jenny always felt a little worried about talking too much about their loot from the bank robberies. 

“I am less concerned about leaving here than I am about arriving there. I wish to make the proper impression, so that we are not questioned in the future.”

“There’ll always be questions. That’s just human nature. Still, it’s a smart thought. If you arrive as a wealthy toff widow, people will assume that you’re a wealthy widow until proven otherwise. When can we have a look?” 

“Monday August the First is the date when we may take possession of the house.” Vastra said. “However, the property is currently empty, so I obtained permission to visit once or twice beforehand and decide what changes need to be made.” 

“Changes?”

“Yes. The owners were both heavy smokers, and little was altered since the original owner died. If nothing else, I want to air the rooms out.”

“Makes sense. Probably need to change the drapes as well. Coal smoke is bad enough, but most goes up the chimneys. But tobacco smoke gets everywhere. Likely it will need a good clean too.” Jenny frowned. “Ah, just remembered. I’ll need to give notice to Mrs Brown.”

“Give notice?”

“Tell her I’m leaving, and that she’ll need a new cleaner. Though mind, we’ve visited that street before. It’s only a fifteen minute walk from there to here if she needs me to stay on and help for a bit.”

“Very well, let Mrs Brown know.” Vastra frowned a moment. “However, the agent seemed to have one strong concern. It said most people refused to lease the house due to its position on the street.”

“Our house? Is it in the middle of the street? What’s wrong with its position?”

“Something about the number being bad? Is that a... mammalian delusion?”

“The number…? Oh! The street number! What is it?”

“Thirteen.”

“Well, that makes figures. Most folks think thirteen is an unlucky number.”

“How can a number be unlucky? Numbers are simply ways to count!” Jenny could see Vastra frowning under her hood. “Are you going to be difficult about moving now?

“Not me! After all, I was almost thirteen when I met you and really thirteen when you beat the Black Scorpions! Now I get to move to a real house! That’s good luck, that is. Thirteen’s always been lucky for me. Always a bit different, I am.”

Vastra shook her head at Jenny’s nonsense. Still it answered the question. “Very well then. At the beginning of next month we will move into Thirteen Paternoster Row.”

***

After she finished cleaning the Gin Palace the next day Jenny ‘Gave Notice’ to Mrs Brown that she was leaving, and would not be able to continue as the morning cleaner. Then things took an interesting turn. In short order, Vastra found Mrs Brown at her door, demanding to speak with her. 

Mrs Brown quickly came to the point: “Mean to make sure you’re paying that young gel of yours what she’s worth! Probably the best cleaner I’ve had in years. You and I agreed that I’d pay her six shillings a week. She’s never said what you pay her, or if you even do so. Now it’s one thing for you to pay her a pittance plus room and board to clean a one-room flat, but it is quite another to pay her the same wage, and then have her cleaning a great huge townhouse! By my reckoning, you should be paying her a good twenty pounds a…”

“Twenty pounds!” Vastra was stunned. In her experience, twenty pounds a week seemed so high! Even at the Monstre Gathering, Jago only paid her a pound a week to play The Amazing Lizard Woman! And that was considered good pay for her troupe!

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those penny-pinching toffs who pays too little and works their maid half to death! Twenty to Twenty- Five pounds is a decent wage for a hard working maid like Jenny! If you don’t pay her proper, she’ll be gone in no time! There’s a shortage of good workers these days; the gel’s young, that’s true, but she’ll grow into her position quick enough. ‘Specially now that she’ll have other older servants to learn from. Or bully her until she learns her place. Same thing, in’t it? ”

“No one bullies Jenny but me. And what other servants are you talking about?”

“You’re leasing a certain house on Paternoster Row, Jenny says. I know that place; it’s got a poor reputation. It’s a massive sprawling castle of a house. You’ll need other servants. Butler housekeeper, cook. ‘ow many more servants will Madame be hiring, anyway?” 

“I’m not sure I’ll be hiring any servants. I want to have a good look at the house first and then determine what is needed. Besides, Jenny will be more of an apprentice…”

“An Apprentice!” scoffed Mrs Brown. “Jenny’s too young; she can’t be an apprentice! What nonsense are you filling her head with? This better not be some toff trick to cheat an honest girl of her wages! Take the girl for an Apprentice? Don’t be daft! I still say twenty pounds…”

***

Jenny cautiously lifted two buckets, and started up the stairs, careful to not spill any water. As she reached the top, she could hear Mrs Brown and Madame Vastra arguing; not loud like, but both very set in their tone. Jenny heard her name, and realized the two women, human and lizard, were arguing about her! She stopped, not sure if she should just barge in. Neither one sounded very happy, but maybe she should break them up. She started forward, again, just in time to hear Mrs Brown say “…for an Apprentice? Don’t be daft! I still say twenty pounds…” and then the woman moved further into the room. Stunned, Jenny put down the buckets outside the door and stepped back into the stairway.

Apprenticeships cost money. She hadn’t thought of that. Twenty pounds for an apprenticeship… well that was almost cheap! She knew that for some of the female trades, such as milliner or mantua maker, the apprenticeship could run as high as forty pounds! 

But Madame hadn’t mentioned payment. And she knew Jenny only had a few handfuls of shillings saved up. Maybe Madame would loan her the money and she could work it off.

And that brought unhappy thoughts of how the Scorpions wanted to work off her debt back again. But Madame Vastra wasn’t like that. Was she?

Or maybe Jenny should stay at the Gin Palace, and try to save up the money instead. If she could save two shillings a week, she’s have a pound in 10 weeks, and for twenty pounds… Jenny frowned. That couldn’t be right! She’d need four years and a bit more to save up twenty pounds!

But how else could she get the money to pay Madame Vastra? She didn’t have anything to sell… well aside from the obvious, and since Madame had killed Chang the Scorpion whoremaster, she doubted selling her body was what Madame wanted. 

The thought ‘payment in blood’ floated up in Jenny’s mind. She had no idea what penny dreadful she’d read that in.

Taking another cleaning job was a possibility. Or of course, she could always rob a bank…

Jenny cocked her head. Now that… that was an idea… 

***

Madame Vastra said nothing about finding two abandoned water buckets outside the door of the flat as Mrs Brown was leaving. She assumed that Jenny heard the adults arguing, and with a hatchlings’ instinct for survival, went in search of something safer to do than interrupt.

Later that evening Jenny found Madame Vastra on her knees, peering under the bed. Beside her were bank notes, coins and stock certificates, stacked in untidy piles. 

“I had forgotten how much treasure is under here. How will we move this to our new location when the time comes?” asked Vastra, glancing up at Jenny.

“Need a chest or some bags most like, ma’am,” replied Jenny. 

“Could you carry a chest?” asked Vastra. “I can carry mine down the street easily enough, and I know you are getting stronger, but still…”

Jenny laughed at the thought. “No, we’ll get a carter to move everything. You said you want to make a good impression, right? Quality doesn’t move their own things; they pay people like my lot to do it.” 

Vastra brightened a little. “Ah, rather like the roustabouts that the troupe employed to move things and set up. Yes, very good idea!” She sighed a little. “I still have a great deal to learn about… human tribes.”

Jenny looked over the stacks, and picked one up. “What about those papers; the stock certificates and such with the Scorpions’ names on them? If we’re caught with them, the game is up for both of us. Should we burn them?” 

Vastra scowled, looking from the papers to the fireplace and back. “Jenny, if you walked into a room with a great deal of burnt paper in it in the summer, what would you think?”

“That either someone was really bad at starting fires, or they were hiding… oh!” Jenny shook her head. “Right, that’s a sure way to give us away. All right, I’ll bundle them up for now.” She grinned, “Here’s a thought; I can make ‘em into spills to start the fires at the new house. If it’s as big as you say ma’am, there’ll be lots of fireplaces. We can hide them in plain sight, and just burn a couple of them a day!”

“Excellent idea. Now, I pulled out this… money for a reason. After you finish cleaning tomorrow, we’re going to do some investigating.”

Jenny grinned. Investigating with Madame Vastra always turned up something new. Well, almost always; she winced as she remembered a manure pile she’d dug through the other week.

As it turned out, Madame Vastra was considering taking Mr Thackeray advice to first move to a hotel instead of moving directly to the new house. The idea was to give both Vastra and Jenny some practice in their new roles. Neither pf them had ever stayed at a hotel, but Vastra thought they would be much like the rooming houses her troupe had occasionally stayed at; except larger and almost certainly cleaner! She suspected that they would also require more money, but she was confident that Jenny would be able to sort out their funds and make sure the bills were paid.

***

On Sunday afternoon, they walked over to the Mansion House station, and took the underground to Victoria Station. Jenny wanted to enjoy the ride, but found herself remembering Madame’s story about attacking people in the dark. Every time the lights flickered, Jenny started a tiny bit. She was very happy when the ride was over. And she was cross about feeling that way. She loved riding on the Metropolitan Railway!

As far as Jenny could tell, Madame Vastra didn’t even notice. The lizard woman just sat and brooded, not speaking for the entire trip. Even the huge station at Victoria, where the underground delivered passengers to the rail lines, didn’t look like it impressed her.

The Grosvenor Hotel at 101 Buckingham Palace Road in Belgravia was a massive building, fully five tall stories high before the roofline, which seemed to be two stories more. A wide avenue led up to it, and curved in front. The building had to be easily three times as wide as it was high. Even the front doors, sheltered by an awning that stretched out to the street, were awe-inspiring. Jenny gulped, wanting to turn back before they got near the place. Even the Bank of England didn’t intimidate her as much as this posh hotel.

Madame Vastra, however, swept forward, and Jenny trotted a bit to catch up. Near the doors the two doormen where helping a pair of well-dressed families into their carriages, and didn’t notice Vastra and Jenny’s approach. Madame ignored them, easily opening the front door herself. 

At the last moment, one of the doorman caught sight of them, and called out, “Hoi! Stop you two!” Madame continued to ignore him, and Jenny gave a little shrug to the doorman as she followed her mistress inside.

Inside the door was the main lobby. Jenny couldn’t help it, she simply stopped and stared. Everything was polished stone. The floor was laid out in like a draughts-board, white and black stones side by side. The walls were polished white, with columns on the walls, two stories high at least, that led to gold tops, and over those fierce stone lion masks stared frowned down at her. Ahead of them a wide staircase led up then split in two, one set of stairs to either side, up to a balcony that ran all the way around the lobby. The balcony itself was another two stories high. Above them was a huge lamp, which to Jenny seemed to be made of thousands of tiny bits of glass. Everything was lit by gaslights, blazing away in the middle of the day! 

Jenny suddenly felt very lost. This wasn’t like the Bank of England, where they were welcome guests. No one invited them here. They didn’t fit in. If the doormen hadn’t been helping someone else, they’d never be allowed to cross the doorway. Despite that, she couldn’t stop gawking. Madame Vastra, of course, ignored everyone and everything, and started towards the front desk.

The clerk there was glaring at them like he was looking at a pair of slugs. “You have used the wrong doors. The servants’ entrance is around the side.”

“I am no one’s servant,” replied Madame Vastra. 

“No?” The man scowled, and growled in a low voice, “Then get out! We certainly don’t allow beggars in here at all! James! Charles!”

Two tall men in uniform who were nearby sorting luggage turned at his call, and at his waved command, started towards Jenny and Vastra menacingly.

“We’d best go ma’am,” whispered Jenny.

“Why?” asked Madame. “I can dispose of them easily enough.” She turned to face the large men.

“Ah, ma’am, that’s not really a good idea!” Jenny got between the men and Madame Vastra. If anyone was going to take a beating, it would be her not Madame! She grabbed Madame’s arm, and started edging them out the door.

The men slowed a little, but didn’t stop. Jenny breathed a little sigh of relief; so long as they were leaving, the men didn’t seem to want to cause a scene. Probably give the place a bad name if they beat up a women and child who were trying to get out the door. She continued tugging Madame towards the door, herded by the men.

“Jenny, we…” 

“Not now, please, Madame.”

“’Madame’ is it? You one of her little whore’s girl, come to ply yer trade with the gent…” 

SMACK! 

The mouth-breather went flying. Madame Vastra had darted around Jenny and dealt her own rough justice for the insult.

“Jenny is not a whore, and if you ever say anything of the sort again, I will kill you!” Madame stared down at the stunned man, where he lay crumpled against the wall. His partner stood staring at him, shocked, then turned back to Jenny and Vastra, murder in his eye.

“That’s done it,” muttered Jenny, who grabbed Madame’s hand and pulled her towards the door as fast as possible. As luck would have it, the doorman saw them coming, and politely opened the door for them, and gave them a little bow as they went past.

“Thank you for visiting us! Please come again!”

“Not bloody likely,” muttered Jenny, as she hurried Madame down the street.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: 
> 
> “…she should get a cage for Jenny’s head” – Vastra is of course referring to a fencing mask.
> 
> Apprenticeships in Victorian London - Although in 1881 the apprenticeship system in England was not as absolute as it had been in the middle ages, it still existed, and would persist until the 1920’s. About 3 – 5% of apprentices were female, usually in occupations such as mantu maker, dress maker, milliners, etc. A seven-year term was usual and in the better trades, such as cabinet makers, saddlers and silversmiths; apprenticeship usually started at the age of fourteen. By the "custom of London" those apprenticed in the City had to be over 14 and under 21. (Which is why Mrs Brown says Jenny is too young.) In Surrey in the 18th century (1700’s) some 87 per cent of the apprenticeships were for seven years, the remainder ranging from one to 15 years. The shorter terms included attorneys, milliners and mantua makers (dressmakers), who usually served for five years. In these cases the premiums for females could be as high as £40, whilst those for attorneys could be a good deal higher.
> 
> Spills to start fires: A spill is a long slender spiral cylinder of paper (easily made by hand from scrap paper, old wrapping paper, incriminating papers you want to dispose of...) that allow one to light a fire without having the match burn your fingers. Smart idea, yes? 
> 
> The Grosvenor Hotel was built in 1862 close to Victoria Station in Belgravia, London. The hotel is still in operation, and if you look it up on the ‘net, there is a lovely virtual tour of the lobby, and you can see what Jenny tries to describe. As a writer, I must say that I love the internet; I was looking for period pictures of the lobby, and received an entire tour!


	7. Movin' On Up - Part 2 - Out of Cheapside

To her relief, Jenny found a little tearoom near Victoria Station where they could stop, rest and take a breath. She was surprised to find one open on Sunday, but since the trains ran anyway and people were out enjoying the day, it made sense for the shop to get the customers while they could. The place wasn’t grand but it was clean, and there were a few working-class couples dressed in their Sunday best scattered among the local well-to-dos, so Jenny was hopeful that they wouldn’t repeat the trouble at the hotel. 

Madame Vastra, of course, was furious at the treatment they’d received. Jenny hoped that some nice hot tea would calm her down. Jenny got them seated, and ordered for them both, careful to let a few shillings clink in her purse so the waitress knew that they could pay. Vastra controlled herself until they were alone, and then had a quiet… well… Jenny could only think of it as a hissing fit. 

Finally the lizard woman ran down, and eyed the silent human across the small table. “How can you be so calm about this?” demanded Madame Vastra. 

Jenny just shrugged. “It’s always been like this for me. Get above your station, and someone will take you for a servant if you’re lucky or for worse if yer not. You’ll get used to it.”

Vastra stopped for a moment, and looked closely at Jenny through her heavy veil. “You’ve been treated like that before, haven’t you?” Jenny nodded and Vastra leaned back in her chair for a long moment, thinking. Finally she spoke.

“That’s why you were wary of Mr Dawes and Capman Simundson. They are well off and have power to order others about. And to assume or accuse you of things that simply aren’t true.” 

“ _Captain_ Simundson, ma’am. Mr Dawes is alright once you get use to him, but I’ve no doubt that if I ever overstep and speak too familiar with him, I’ll get a strip tore off my hide.”

“He will not touch you!” Madame was suddenly, blazingly angry again.

Jenny moved to calm her, before the other customers kicked up a fuss. “Not that way, ma’am. He’ll never lay a finger on me. He’ll do it with words. Same as you might. That can hurt even more than a blow. Captain Simundson on the other hand… well you heard him. He thought I was a dolt ‘cause I’m young and poor. He was surprised I could even read! As if this wasn’t the capital of the whole British Empire, not some little town in a backwater colony! The board schools make sure that most children here get at least a few years schooling, even poor ones like me!”

“Very true, and you are working to improve your skills. Still, I can’t believe the rudeness of those men. They thought we were beggars, not patrons!” 

“Well, our clothes have seen better days. What’s the saying; ‘Clothes make the woman?’ We should get you some new ones anyway. Have you look like a real Lady. ‘Specially if you want to make a good impression when you move up the street.”

Their tea arrived, along a scone with honey and butter for Jenny and a little meat pie for Vastra. The pair nibbled and sipped happily, slowly relaxing. Jenny made a note to remember this place; they had nice things to eat, and the tea tasted good. Not like floor sweepings. 

After a while, Jenny frowned for a few moments and said, “Here’s a thought… maybe we should start at a smaller place, a little hotel or inn, where we can ‘practice’ a bit at being more… genteel like.” 

They also really needed to buy better clothes. When Jenny asked where she’d bought her clothes before, Madame Vastra was confused. She confessed to Jenny that when she first awoke, she only had the clothes that she went to sleep in (Madame called it ’going into hibernation’, but Jenny understood what she meant.) Then Madame was given some clothes by the Doctor from his ship’s wardrobe while she travelled with him. When she was with the Monstre Gathering, she was sometimes given clothes and costumes in exchange for part of her pay. Mr Jago arranged it all (after the Doctor had some firm words with him) usually as part of a costume change for the troupe. 

“You mean you ain’t got any new clothes since you left the circus?” asked Jenny.

“Well, I did accept one or two shirts and a nice scarf from the hanging lines of cloth offerings the ap…your people put out from time to time…” 

“The hanging lines… you took clothes from people’s clothes lines?” Jenny asked, dropping her voice to a sharp whisper. At Madame’s nod, Jenny just shook her head. “It’s a wonder you’re not in jail long since, Madame, as you seem to be more like to take things that don’t belong to you than any street rat I’ve ever met!” Honestly, thought Jenny, life with Madame Vastra was certainly never going to be dull! 

“You don’t really understand money and buying things, do you?” continued Jenny. “Don’t know why not; you’re pretty clever most of the time!”

“My people simply did not have such concerns. What we needed, we requested. The request was either granted or it was not.” Madame Vastra shrugged. “Besides, no one, not even one of my people, can be proficient at everything. There are many subjects that I understand better than you do, but two you understand far better than I do: You understand you people better than I, and you understand your currency and …economy.”

“Economy? You mean being pinch penny?”

“Pinch penny?”

“Ummm… thrifty?”

“Well, that as well. But I meant that you understand the value of items in this society; absolute, relative and situational.”

“What, what and what?”

Vastra shook her head; sometimes she forgot that Jenny was so very young, and her vocabulary was still limited. “For example, you understand the price to be paid for a cup of tea and a snack, the value of one being available instead of, say a bottle of gin, and especially important, you understand when you or I need them.” 

Jenny wasn’t sure about all the words, but she agreed on one idea. Madame Vastra needed this little break and a snack, and Jenny knew how and where to find one and how much to pay for it. So maybe she did have some useful skills to offer after all. 

And she knew at least one safer place to get clothes than stealing ‘em off a clothesline!

***

Very early Monday morning, Jenny dropped by the rag-picker tables set up near the Billingsgate Fish Market. She was on the hunt for some better clothes for Madame Vastra, and to trade cash and Madame’s scrubbed but still stained cloak for a better looking one. She knew that someone who was well off could either buy nice clothes in a shop, or have some made by a tailor or seamstress, but she had no idea how to go about it, and she was worried about giving the game away by asking any of the neighbours. 

Problem was, it was almost mid-July, and the weather was nice and warm. Dark cloaks, even a nice light one like Madame’s, were likely packed away in storage; there certainly weren’t any on the tables or hung in the stalls. 

Nearby a foreign couple were talking with the rag-picker everyone called Old Mirvish. Jenny glanced over; they seemed to be selling things, not buying. Jenny sighed to herself; they were likely trying to make ends meet. London was not a cheap place to live. 

Jenny wandered closer, not so much interested in the conversation, most of which she couldn’t understand anyway, but because there was a nice big steamer trunk sitting on the ground by the couple. It was a bit scratched and half-covered with shipping labels, but if Jenny could find another one like it, moving the notes and such would be much easier.

Suddenly Old Mirvish looked up at her. “Buying or Selling?” he barked.

“Buying and trading old and coin for a better one,” Jenny replied, holding up Madame’s cloak. 

Old Mirvish frowned. “Do not be foolish! It is the wrong season for such a heavy garment!”

Jenny shrugged. “Madame wears a cloak summer or winter. If she wants a new cloak, getting one is my job. Do you have one to sell me? About this size?”

There were several crates at the rear of the booth, and Jenny knew that sometimes the rag-pickers would come up with something almost as good if they could make a sale. Sure enough, Old Mirvish scratched his long grey beard for a moment, and then dove into a box. He rummaged around a moment, muttered a word that Jenny didn’t understand, and then dove into a different crate. Finally he pulled out two bolts of dark cloth, and brought them to the table at the front of the stall.

“Here,” he said, “this is what you need. You can sew, of course? All girls know how to sew!” 

“Can sew a little. Good enough for mending.”

“Then this will be excellent practice for you, yes? A cloak is a very easy thing to make. You can make one yourself from this. ”

“Need a pattern, don’t I?”

“You are holding one in your hand.” Old Mirvish pointed at the cloak that Jenny still carried. 

Jenny sighed, but bought the cloth. She didn’t have much choice: Madame needed the cloak, and this was likely the best deal she’d get in the middle of the summer.

The woman, who was watching them, suddenly asked Old Mirvish a question. He replied in the same language, and they went back and forth for a moment. Finally Old Mirvish turned back to Jenny.

“Mrs Mandelstam offers to make the cloak for you, if you would like.” 

Jenny eyed the wife and the man beside her with curiosity. They were dressed well, but they had a hungry look in their eyes. And just a little bit of hope as they eyed the cloak and cloth in Jenny’s hands.

“Do they need the work to eat?”

Old Mirvish regarded her for a moment. “Most people would not care… but yes. They only speak a few words of English. They are proud, but hungry too. She is a seamstress who sewed for those with summer houses on the Crimean coast, and he is a cobbler. There they were well off. Until they became hunted for their faith. The new tsar sees enemies everywhere, even where none exist. Here they are nothing. But they have some distant family in London. So here they are.”

“Don’t know where the Crimea is, except we fought a war there once, I think. Been hunted meself though. Not a nice feeling.” Jenny hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Let’s give them a chance. It’ll be a kindness to all of us. They’ll have work, Madame’ll have a nice cloak, and I won’t be mortified by my sewing. I can hem things and patch things and sew buttons so they’ll never fall off, but real clothes need real talent. ”

Old Mirvish nodded, and said a few words to the couple.

_“She accepts.”_

_“Bless her!”_ The woman crossed to Jenny, seized her hand, and kissed it. Old Mirvish noted that while the girl looked embarrassed at the sudden display of gratitude, she didn’t pull away in distaste. 

_“Treat her fairly,”_ he said. _"She is not of our faith, and she is very young, but she is strong and kind in her own way. And she just confirmed that the words of the streets are true; she has faced down men that were as evil as those who lead the Pogroms. But be warned: someone… or Some Thing… is rumoured to protect her. Whatever it is, do not cause it to be cross with you. You may not live to lament it. So the Black Scorpions discovered to their regret.”_

_“Kindness should be met with kindness,”_ replied the woman. _“And a good customer is worth their weight in silver and gold, no matter what their faith. I will deliver the cloak as promised. It will buy us more time. You know that if we end up working in factories we will lose our skills. Besides, if God is kind, both her household and mine will prosper from our dealings.”_

Jenny glanced at Old Mirvish as she handed over the cloth and cloak. “How much will they need to be paid now, and how do I know that they will deliver?” she asked warily.

_____“The cloth has value, so you need pay nothing now. The new cloak and the old will be delivered to you two mornings from now.” There was a quick flurry of words as Jenny’s lodging was confirmed and relayed to the Mandelstam’s. They nodded and between them picked up the chest, which Jenny guessed was empty, as they had no trouble with carrying it as they started to walk away._ _ _ _ _

_____“They buy that trunk from you?” Jenny asked, wondering if Old Mirvish might have another one to sell her._ _ _ _ _

_____“No, they were trying to sell it to raise some money, but none of us here deal in such large goods. They would be better off trying on Portobello Road.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“That’s a long walk….” Jenny looked up quickly, suddenly very interested. “They want to sell it? ‘Cause if the price is fair, I might buy it.”_ _ _ _ _

_____With Mirvish’s help, Jenny arranged to buy the trunk. The deal was struck, Jenny gave them two shillings as a ‘down payment’ for the trunk, (and because she thought they might need the money for some food,) with the remaining cash on delivery of the trunk, and delivery and approval of the cloak to the Gin Palace in two days. Old Mirvish took charge of the trunk to save the Mandelstam’s dragging it about, and promised not to sell it in the meantime._ _ _ _ _

_____Jenny knew she was being a bit soft again, and might be out the cloak, the price of the cloth and two shillings besides. But Old Mirvish had a fair reputation, and at worst she`d likely get a trunk out of the deal. Jenny could live with that, she thought._ _ _ _ _

_____And she might end up a good deal ahead. Especially if Mrs Mandelstam really could sew._ _ _ _ _

_____***_ _ _ _ _

_____On Monday evening, Madame Vastra and Jenny found Mr Thackeray sitting in the Area behind the Gin Palace enjoying a drink. Vastra took the opportunity to confirm that they would be moving soon, and to thank James for his help. Shortly afterwards, Inspector Abernathy wandered in. They’d not seen him very often since the end of the Black Scorpions, but Constable Palmer had explained to them that as member a Scotland Yard and the Metropolitan Police, the City of London proper was not part of Abernathy’s jurisdiction._ _ _ _ _

_____It turned out that while Madame Vastra and Jenny were working on the Tournament Case, Abernathy was working on the case of the murder of a Mr Issac Gold, who was killed while riding on a train! Madame, of course was interested in the case and wished to hear what ever details Abernathy was able to tell her. Jenny understood her interest; as Madame had recently confessed to having some experience in such crimes, a fact which she carefully did not mention to Abernathy or Constable Palmer._ _ _ _ _

_____***_ _ _ _ _

_____“So you’re moving, then?” Jenny looked up at the gruff voice behind her. Constable Palmer was watching her closely._ _ _ _ _

_____“So Madame says. She’s moving up the street, to near St. Paul’s. Asked me to come along.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Why?” growled Palmer._ _ _ _ _

_____“Well, she needs someone to haul the coal, and buy the groceries, don’t she? You expect a lady like her to do for herself?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Haven’t heard anything about her money coming in. When did that happen?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Jenny crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Oh no you don’t! That’s not my place to say, and you know it! Go ask Madame that one. See if she bites yer head off for that, why don’t you?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Vastra could hear the low rumble of Palmer’s voice, asking Jenny a great number of questions about their upcoming move. He was watching Jenny closely, and now Jenny was bristling like a tiny dragon at him. Vastra didn’t know whether to be amused or alarmed._ _ _ _ _

_____“Am I mistaken or does Constable Palmer sound…angry with Jenny?” She asked._ _ _ _ _

_____“He’s just being a bit short with her. He thinks she’s taking advantage of your kindness,” explained Abernathy._ _ _ _ _

_____“He thinks Jenny is taking advantage of me?” Madame Vastra asked, honestly surprised._ _ _ _ _

_____“He’s worried about you, ma’am.” Abernathy sighed. “Constable Palmer has half convinced himself that Jenny was in league with the Bank Robbers, and passing on information to them,” he explained. “He’s worried that she’ll set you up as well to be robbed. Nonsense of course; the girl is clearly happy to be working for you.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I thought he was starting to like Jenny a little,” chimed in Thackeray, confused._ _ _ _ _

_____“That might be part of the problem. He thinks he’s not supposed to like her, so he’s a bit grumpy about how he feels.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Thackeray eyed the constable for a minute. “How old is he, anyway?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“About twenty-four. He’ll be eligible for promotion in another year, when he passes his five year mark.” Abernathy replied._ _ _ _ _

_____“Hmmm. He’s a bit old for her then, but she’s got enough spirit to lead him quite the dance when she grows up. Might work out well,” nodded Thackeray._ _ _ _ _

_____Madame Vastra noticed Mrs Crawford the Grocer wander out of the Gin Palace, a small mug of Ginger Beer in her hand. The female, well-known for her gossip, stood listening quietly in the background. Vastra saw Jenny give her a little grin and a wave; her human liked the woman, and her son had helped save Jenny’s life, so Vastra simply nodded to the intruder, and returned to the conversation._ _ _ _ _

_____“What are you two chattering on about?” growled Vastra. “As to the other matter, have you forgotten that Jenny fought the thugs who attacked Mr Thackeray, and was later kidnapped by them? How could you possible think they are her allies? Besides, she is usually either here at the Gin Palace, or with me.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“That’s all very well, Madame,” chimed in Constable Palmer, approaching the group, “but I can’t help but notice that Jenny’s often out on errands for you. She could be up to anything during that time.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Constable Palmer, I point out to you that the Black Scorpions were murderers, blackmailers and thieves. And I understand that the very worst of the Scorpions were rumoured to be rather well-placed Englishmen. And worse, there were even several banks involved with them, and they were the true targets of your bank robbers. Possibly the police should be more concerned with The Scorpions, then with whoever was undermining their finances. ”_ _ _ _ _

_____Constable Palmer gave the other men a sour look. “Wonder where the widow heard all THAT from,” he grumbled._ _ _ _ _

_____Vastra decided that it was time to change the focus of the discussion. “Constable, WHY are you so interested in chasing Jenny, especially if she was indeed fighting the Black Scorpions?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Rumour is that there’s something dangerous out there. The Scorpions said the girl was rescued by a monster with a sword…”_ _ _ _ _

_____“As opposed to a widow with an umbrella?” interrupted Vastra, wanting to turn attention away from talk of swords and monsters. “Constable Palmer, you are both intelligent and diligent. Do you really believe that the Scorpions would tell the truth about that encounter, especially if they lost?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“So… Jenny didn’t kill any of them?”_ _ _ _ _

_“Jenny?”_ now Vastra was truly shocked. “Don’t be ridiculous! The girl fights with a broom!” Because she’s not trained well enough to use her knife yet, thought Vastra to herself. 

______“Gentlemen,” she continued, “I can assure all of you that while Jenny fought valiantly against the Black Scorpions when they attacked her, she did not kill any of them. You know that as well as I do, as you were there! However, I am both shocked and appalled that the police seem to be more concerned in protecting the persons and banks which profited from the Scorpions crimes, than protecting the victims of those fiends. That I cannot understand. If it was left to me, I would happily rend every member of the Black Scorpions, Chinese or English, from limb to limb to make them pay for their crimes!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______And ain’t that the honest truth, thought Jenny._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Seated nearby, Mrs Crawford chuckled to herself. People might call her a ‘friendly old gossip’, but she knew a great deal of the comings and goings in Cheapside. Hearing of Jenny’s trouble with the Black Scorpions reminded her of the shadowy figures that sometimes showed up in the very early morning near the Gin Palace, carrying large bags. At the time she’d though they were simply coalmen on early morning rounds, as nothing was reported stolen in the neighbourhood (beyond the usual wallets, purses and handkerchiefs) but now she wondered. On the other hand, shutting down a gang of criminals who weren’t above beating merchants who failed to pay ‘protection money’, especially when that gang was slowly moving its reach west towards Cheapside, was a good thing in Mrs Crawford’s books._ _ _ _ _ _

______Mrs Brown, the landlady of the Cheapside Gin Palace, had been grumbling about losing Jenny because Madame Vastra was out and taking the girl with her. Personally, Mrs Crawford thought it was a smart move for Jenny; the child was a good influence on her shadowy mistress, and the woman had opened up considerably over the last few weeks. Heavens, the woman had even nodded at Mrs Crawford herself just now; for Madame Vastra that was as almost as surprising as a hug and a kiss on both cheeks!_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mrs Crawford remembered hearing that the woman had moved into the Gin Palace last fall. She’d not seen her for weeks, and then only as a shadowy glimpse in the evening or the morning. No one called her ‘Madame Vastra’ then; they knew her name was Vastra; obviously a foreigner, but no title. Not even if she was a Miss or a Missus or a widow. Certainly she never bought anything at the local shops; although Mrs Brown said that she did buy gin. Mrs Crawford occasionally wondered what on earth the woman ate!_ _ _ _ _ _

______It took Jenny’s arrival in March to sort things out, making sure both Madame’s name and status was quietly known to the area, and making sure her tiny household was properly provisioned. Although Mrs Brown grumbled that the gin purchases had dropped off considerably._ _ _ _ _ _

______And if Madame Vastra and Jenny had anything at all to do with shutting down the Black Scorpions, bank robberies or no, she would be happy to keep her peace. Mrs Crawford hoped they would keep their custom with her shop; they paid their bills, and it wasn’t that far to Paternoster Row. The walk would do George good. Decent customers who paid promptly and didn’t ask for credit were so very hard to find!_ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’d best be off, I want a word with the constable on patrol,” said Palmer as he set down his mug of tea. Inspector Abernathy stood as well, waving to Madame Vastra and Jenny as he left with Palmer._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You don’t really think Jenny killed anyone, do you?” Abernathy quietly asked Constable Palmer once they reached the street and where well out of earshot._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Doubt it. But there’s some strange stories starting to float around about how the Black Scorpions came to an end. It all collapsed for them after we made that raid to rescue her. And those two thugs went to Jenny directly when they were too scared to try and turn themselves in to the police station. Seems to be a lot of ‘coincidence’ if you take my meaning.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, but they went to Jenny because they hoped you or I were around. They were at the Gin Palace looking for us!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Constable Palmer considered Abernathy for a moment out of the corner of his eye, and then shrugged._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Still, I think I’ll have a word with the constables on the St Paul’s beat. Young Jenny’s been in more scrapes in the last month than any girl I’ve ever met, and it would be best if someone kept a sharp eye on her.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That makes sense. I’d like to make sure someone with Scotland Yard keeps an ear open when they’re outside the City, if I’m tied up on other cases. I’ll have a word with one of our sergeants.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Palmer pulled out his notebook, nodding at the thought. “Who would that that would be, sir?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sergeant Gregson. He’s a bit dull sometimes, but he has some promise, I’m told. Might make inspector eventually.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Without giving a great deal of detail, Madame Vastra brought James Thackeray up to date on their misadventure at the Grosvenor Hotel. “Jenny is making arrangements for some new clothing for me; she believes that will help. I believe, however, that something smaller in the way of a hotel might suit us both better.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s a sound plan,” replied James. “I guess when you travelled before, your husband or staff made all the arrangements?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“My staff?” Vastra cocked her head, remembering. “Yes, actually, I was rather spoiled, I suppose.” Vastra shook her head, remembering her unit’s highly efficient and rather eccentric logistics officer. “Anything we needed tended to simply appear. We quickly learned not to ask too many questions.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jenny will be like that someday,” a new voice joined them. “She’s starting to show a talent for it. What’s needed, she’ll find a way to make get it or make it.” Madame Vastra looked up, to see Mrs Crawford joining them. “In the meanwhile,” Mrs Crawford continued, “I might be able to help a little. Jenny mentioned that you’re invited to Wimbledon to see the finals for the Rifle Matches?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You are correct,” Vastra replied. The invitation from the Green Jackets had arrived that morning while Jenny was out. Sergeant Parker delivered it; Vastra was relieved to see him, and that Private Taylor hadn’t sauntered into the Gin Palace, with his eyes that sometimes saw too much._ _ _ _ _ _

______“One of my cousins and her husband run a small inn near Wimbledon,” explained Mrs Crawford. “Usually they’re booked up with the matches, but she had several last minute cancellations. If you send her a telegram first thing in the morning, she can likely fit you in, and be glad of the business. It’s a nice little place, not fancy, but clean and the cook knows her trade. Go for a few days or a week, and get both of you out of the London heat for a holiday! Stop by my shop tomorrow and I’ll give you her direction.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra glanced over at James, who nodded. “Sounds ideal. They’re likely to be gentler on Jenny as well; the staff at the big hotels can be tough on young servants if they’re still learning their business.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jenny’s not my servant, she’s my assistant,” grumbled Vastra. “Very well, then, I’ll send a telegram and a letter in the morning.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______On the way upstairs, Mrs Brown pulled Jenny aside to speak to her. While Vastra couldn’t hear what was said, she thought Jenny looked surprised, and then… thoughtful? Human expressions were still hard for her. She’d check with Jenny when she was in the room, but she was pleased that she was at least learning to read Jenny’s face a little bit._ _ _ _ _ _

______After the door was safely closed, and Vastra had removed her hat and netting, she asked, “What was that about?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Nothing really,” shrugged Jenny. “Mrs Brown really wants me stay that’s all. Made me a nice offer too. She’d rent me this room for half the usual rent for a year if I stay on as the full-time cleaner. But I still told her ‘Thank you, but no.’” Jenny shook her head. “I’d rather stay with you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra nodded. “Good choice. Now, I want to review the today’s lesson with you…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______The next day, after sending off a telegram and a letter to the inn at Wimbledon, Vastra tracked down Mrs Brown in her tiny office. She scowled fiercely at the other woman, and warned her, “While I agree that she is an excellent worker, I do not appreciate your efforts to hire away Jenny from me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“’I don’ ‘h’appreciate yer h’efforts’ to make off with one of the best cleaners I’ve ever had!” replied Mrs Brown._ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra scowled at Mrs Brown, and growled, “I saw her first!” She eyed Mrs Brown, considering whether eating the woman would solve the problem. More likely, she admitted to herself, it would only give her indigestion. She never did like pickled foods, and Mrs Brown was probably mostly gristle anyway._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jenny is quick to learn and works hard at what she does. Being employed as a cleaner was good for her. But now it is time for her to learn if she can do more than that. I believe I can teach her more skills than she would learn here. And armed with that possibility, she has made her own decision.” Vastra nodded stiffly at Mrs Brown, and turned to leave. “I expect that she will continue to decide a great deal for herself in the future. Jenny is quite clever, for one of her kind.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And much misery may that bring you someday, you cold-hearted toff!” Mrs Brown growled quietly at Vastra’s retreating back. “‘One of her kind,’ indeed!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mrs Brown had no way of knowing that Madame Vastra meant ‘for a human.’ No human, in Vastra’s eyes, could ever be as intelligent as one of her people._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra returned to the room to find Jenny wearing her ‘sewer clothes’, with her cloth mask nearby. The girl was reading over her notebooks, and Vastra recognized the sections dealing with the Scorpions’ finances._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What are you doing?” asked Vastra._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Trying to work out if there’s any Scorpion money left to steal, ma’am.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why? Not that I disagree with the idea, but I understood we were no longer robbing banks to keep the authorities from suspecting us, and to minimize the chance of killing someone, either by accident or on purpose. ”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny hesitated a minute, sizing up Madame Vastra. Madame simply gazed back at her, and Jenny discovered that lizards didn’t need to blink as often as she did._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I think I may need some money ma’am… to pay for…something that’s going to change my life…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“How much do you need?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Not sure. Might be somewhere between twenty and forty pounds. Haven’t quite worked up the nerve to ask yet.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra cocked her head from side to side, still focused on Jenny. Then she silently reached under the bed without looking, rooted around the cloth covered pile there, and pulled out a small stack of notes. She counted them, and pushed them across the table to Jenny._ _ _ _ _ _

______“This is sixty-five pounds. More than enough I trust.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just like that?” Jenny asked, shocked._ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra nodded. “However, try not to make a habit of it.” She leaned back a little on the bed and asked, “I don’t understand though; you know full well that there is far more money under the bed than I can keep track of. Why didn’t you simply take what you needed?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny looked shocked. “But that’s stealing, ma’am!” The girl shook her head. “A fine way that would be to repay you for the lessons and help getting the Scorpions off my tail!.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra looked confused. “You don’t want to steal from me, but you’re reviewing banks to rob? I will never understand you humans.” She cocked her head again. “Why do you need such a large sum of money anyway? Are you in danger? Do I need to eat someone?” Vastra looked almost hopeful._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny smiled and shook her head, although she knew that Madame wasn’t really joking about the ‘eating’ bit. “Well, the banks still have some of the Scorpion’s money, but you’re right, I should leave well enough alone. As for the rest… it’s…. well… I heard you and Mrs Brown talking t’other day. And it sounds like… I need the money for an apprenticeship.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I thought you were going to stay with me?” Now Madame Vastra almost sounded worried._ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s just it. Ma’am. When I heard Mrs Brown and you talking, sounded to me like I need twenty pounds at least, maybe more, to pay you for my apprenticeship.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Madame Vastra eyed Jenny for a long moment, finally leaning forward and waving Jenny to do the same. Jenny did, and Madame leaned forward a bit more, to the point that their foreheads were just touching. Madame eyed Jenny up close for a long moment, and gave a tiny little smile._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You’re daft, sometimes, you know that?” Madame growled gently. Jenny leaned back and laughed in delight, hearing the echo of her own words in the teasing._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I don’t want to be paid by you,” continued Madame Vastra._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You don’t?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. You keep things clean and organized, both in our living quarters and our work notes. And you share your knowledge of humans with me. That is payment enough. But I do think that twenty pounds is too high a sum to give you for the equipment you will need, despite your knowledge.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny nodded a little. Mrs Brown was paying her fifteen pounds a year for three days work, but Madame was offering her a free apprenticeship. Still, most apprentices had others in the shop or office to help, and she would need some money for food and clothes._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t really need much money, ma’am, but I’ll need a bit…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Agreed, but something more reasonable, please. Twenty pounds a week is a great sum…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Half a mo, ma’am! Did you say twenty pounds a week?” Jenny was shocked. “Whoever heard of paying a maid or an apprentice anything close to that?!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra blinked in surprise. “Mrs Brown pays you weekly,” she explained, “Naturally I believed that I need to pay you weekly as well!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______And once again Jenny remembered that Madame Vastra didn’t know very much about either money or humans. “Ma’am, Mrs Brown didn’t mean you’d pay me twenty pounds a week. If she thinks you want me for a maid, she means you’d pay me twenty pounds a year!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Twenty pounds a year?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes ma’am. Likely she talked about twenty pounds to try and scare you off! She’s still hoping to keep me. Ten or eleven pounds plus room and board would be the most you might pay me, as I’m still really young.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mrs Brown thinks you should be paid twenty pounds a year?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, she says you should pay me that. She wants to pay me less. But yes, Ma’am. I guess it does sound a bit high since I’m not properly trained or anything….”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Madame blinked again, and then shook her head violently. “No! Absolutely Not!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No?” Ah well, twelve to fifteen pounds after a year or two as an apprentice was really was more likely anyway. And on the other hand, Madame wasn’t going to ask her for an apprentice fee, so that was good…_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. It is too little money! How will you be able to buy the things you need, such as clothes and weapons for your training, and notebooks and maps for our work?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______This was turning into the strangest bit of haggling Jenny had ever done. It sounded like now Madame wanted to pay her more than Mrs Brown had demanded that Jenny should be paid!_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well,” Jenny asked carefully, “how much do you think you should pay me?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Madame Vastra pulled out a small purse and looked through it carefully. Finally she pulled out a small gold coin. “These are called monarchs, correct?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sovereigns, Ma’am,” Jenny replied. “Worth one pound each, or twenty shillings.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I will give you one of these every two weeks. No less. I was paid that much to be an actor and a sideshow freak. You should be paid that much to do real work! I insist!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Now it was Jenny’s turn to be shocked, “Ma’am, that’s twenty-six pounds a year! Honest, that’s far too much! You might pay a cook that much or more, but not someone as young as me!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Madame Vastra shook her head, “Your age does not matter. You can cook, and sew, and write, and do more than that as well. I assure you, you will earn your pay.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______That sounded just a little worrying to Jenny._ _ _ _ _ _

______Madame Vastra glanced down at the small ream of banknotes in her hand, shrugged and offered them again to Jenny. Jenny started to reach for them, and then pulled back, shaking her head._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Best if I don’t take it, ma’am. I’ll be too tempted to spend it on geegaws. Ma always said that those with too much money too young get spoiled, and start thinking it’s their due. That’d be a bad habit to get into fer one like me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny watched as Madame Vastra cocked her head back and forth, clearly confused. But she didn’t argue, and instead the lizard woman simply shrugged, stood, and opened her trunk at the foot of the bed._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny gathered up her notebooks, and with her mind on that, she didn’t see Vastra slip the small stack of notes into the little bag of shillings from Jenny’s pay that she left in Vastra’s care._ _ _ _ _ _

______Sooner or later the girl would need new clothes and new weapons, and putting the money back under the bed just seemed foolish to Madame Vastra._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______The Mandelstams delivered the cloak on Wednesday afternoon. Old Mirvish’s son, Young Mirvish (who despite his name was older than Jenny’s Da) brought the trunk, and translated for the couple._ _ _ _ _ _

______The cloak was very nicely made with straight seams and the seam allowance neither so much that it wasted fabric, nor so little that the seams would easily tear. The stiches were neat and locked down, so even if some tore, the whole seam wouldn’t go. Jenny and Madame Vastra approved the cloak, and paid for it and the trunk then and there._ _ _ _ _ _

______Mrs Mandelstam, who had been sizing up both Madame Vastra and Jenny (and their clothes) with a professional eye, tut-tutted something to Young Mirvish._ _ _ _ _ _

______“If Madame is pleased with the cloak, Mrs Mandelstam would consider it an honour to be allowed to continue making clothes for her and the young miss,” translated Young Mirvish._ _ _ _ _ _

______Without really thinking about it, Vastra looked up from the lovely cloak, and nodded._ _ _ _ _ _

______The seamstress pulled out a tape-measure and started towards Vastra. Vastra stepped back, startled and trying not to hiss. Jenny slipped between the two women._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Here now,” said Jenny to Mrs Mandelstam. “Not wise to get too close to Madame too fast. Makes her jumpy.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mrs Mandelstam needs to take Madame’s measurements,” explained Young Mirvish._ _ _ _ _ _

______‘Oh, that’s going to be a problem,’ Jenny thought. ‘Madame hates having people touch her, and Mrs M might figure out Madame’s not human.’ She took a breath, trying to quickly sort out some reason to avoid the measurements._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Measure Jenny first,” announced Madame Vastra. “She needs a new set of clothes, and I can see what needs to be done.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mrs Mandelstam nodded once Young Mirvish had translated, and set about quickly measuring Jenny. The girl was not yet full grown, so Mrs Mandelstam knew that measuring her with all her clothes on would not be a problem; the child’s clothes would need to have a little room to grow into anyway._ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra watched with interest. The woman was quick, gentle and precise. She called out words to her husband, who wrote down numbers in a list. When she was done, she stepped back, and glanced over at Vastra._ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra looked from her to Jenny then to the men. Mrs Mandelstam nodded, said something to Young Mirvish, who replied readily, then with a nod to Jenny and a quick curtsey to Madame Vastra, she left the flat. Her husband turned to follow her, but paused, glancing longingly at Jenny’s feet._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mrs Mandelstam will work on Miss Jenny’s clothes,” said Young Mirvish. “They will take a few days of work. When they are finished, she will visit your new house, and then, if her work pleases you and you wish her to create some for yourself, she will take your measurements, Madame. Without all the men being present,” he added wryly._ _ _ _ _ _

______Well that wasn’t quite what the problem was, thought Jenny, but it’s as good an excuse as any. Ever practical, she asked “Don’t the missus need money for cloth and thread?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Young Mirvish smiled through his dark beard. “No. Mrs Mandelstam now has a commission for a client who pays on delivery and approval without trying to cheat. She will be able to get credit among my people for the materials she needs. Good business for one is good business for many.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Mr Mandelstam asked a hopeful question to Young Mirvish, who looked startled, then nodded. “Would you like to be measured for a pair of shoes to go with your new clothes?” he asked Jenny. She forgotten the husband was a cobbler._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, she would,” replied Madame Vastra before Jenny had a chance to think._ _ _ _ _ _

______And that settles that, chuckled Jenny, as she sat down in the chair and untied her worn old clunkers._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______After the measuring was done and the visitors were gone, Madame Vastra slipped the chair under the doorknob to brace the door closed in case of unexpected intruders. Then she simply lifted the long edge of the bed, tilted it and leaned it against the wall, exposing a pile of loot beneath it, covered by a worn blanket._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Will it all fit?” asked Jenny, looking between the pile and the chest._ _ _ _ _ _

______“We’ll take as much as possible, and then decide what to do with the rest. We can always bury it. We’ll put as much into the new trunk as possible, add your clothes on top, and then I’ll repack my chest with as much as it can hold.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why don’t we just sneak it into the house? We know where we’re moving to. Don’t need to do it all in one night, just a bit at a time. We could use that tunnel you dug up to the bank near the house.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s not a bad idea. But we are running out of time, as we are scheduled to go to Wimbledon tomorrow. Besides, I would have thought you would have had enough of tunnels by now.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny shrugged. She didn’t think she was being greedy; it just made no sense to just leave any extra money lying around where it could be found and reported back to the police. Although Mrs Brown was far more likely to just keep it. But she’d tell someone and eventually Mrs Crawford would know and about five minutes after that the whole street would know. Mind, with all the groundwork Madame had done about her fortune, some would likely think that the delivery of the trunk, followed by their departure, meant that Madame money had at last come in._ _ _ _ _ _

______Worse come to worse, she grinned, she’d see if they could parcel any leftovers up tomorrow morning and send it to the house through the post!_ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______Wednesday evening a note arrived from Doctor Garrett-Anderson. She still wanted to see Jenny and Madame Vastra; however she needed to delay the meeting. Something had come up in Edinburgh (wherever that was, thought Vastra), and she would be absent for several weeks. After some thought, Madame Vastra sent back a note with their new address. Doctor Garett might be a valuable ally if Jenny became sick or injured, and Madame Vastra preferred that Jenny be treated by a female. From what she gathered in speaking with Jenny, many of the so-called medical professionals of this time, who were almost exclusively male, were less than what Vastra considered competent in matters of medicine. Especially as it pertained to the health of the female apes._ _ _ _ _ _

______***_ _ _ _ _ _

______They arranged for a coach from Parker’s Carriage Company to pick them up at half past one on Thursday afternoon. To their surprise, Sergeant Parker himself showed up to drive them to the small, genteel inn at Wimbledon._ _ _ _ _ _

______The coach arrived in a flourish of men and horses. Two huge black horses with white, well, Jenny thought they looked like stockings, pulled the carriage. A young street boy grabbed the horses’ bridles fearlessly, and held them while Parker climbed down. A young man hopped off the back, and trotted up to the horses holding a weight. He dropped the horse anchor and tipped the ragged youngster._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Good afternoon, Madame Vastra!” Parker called as he approached and gave Madame a small bow_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sergeant Parker…”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Just Mr Parker is fine, milady. We’re not at a military event, you see. I’m just the driver you hired for the day.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mr Parker, then. It’s very good to see you again.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And a pleasure it is to see you again as well, milady. Heard about your triumph at the Grand Tournament. About time someone told those idiots what was what. They have a wonderful event there, but seemed determined to botch it up!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Parker and Madame Vastra discussed the aftermath of the Grand tournament as they climbed the stairs, Jenny and Parker’s young man at their heels._ _ _ _ _ _

______Vastra’s own trunk was taken down first, and then the men returned for the heavier chest._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Now look at that!” said Parker, tapping one of the shipping labels with a finger. “That’s Russian, that is! Remember seeing it when I was in the Crimea.” He peered at it closely. I can even recognize this bit! Looks like ‘Sevastopol’! They call this writing sir-ill-ick, I think,” he said to Jenny._ _ _ _ _ _

______“The Russian Cyrillic alphabet,” nodded Madame Vastra, even though she’d only heard the Doctor mention it a few times. She was very please, Jenny’s purchase, besides being practical for carrying their fortune, added a nice touch to the story of Madame Vastra’s new identity._ _ _ _ _ _

______Parker and his assistant heaved the money chest up between them. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, both men were panting. “Your trunk seems awfully heavy ma’am. Not carrying any bodies about, I trust?” asked Parker._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Not this time,” replied Madame Vastra in a deadpan voice. Parker guffawed, grinned at her, and strained to finish loading the heavy chest_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jenny made a note to herself to ask Madame about that comment, and then mentally erased it again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer._ _ _ _ _ _

______Soon Mr Parker appeared in front of them again, and waved them towards the coach._ _ _ _ _ _

______“All set, Madame Vastra! Just need to get you and Jenny aboard.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Excellent Mr Parker. We are ready as well.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Very good, milady!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______With the chest safely loaded onto the coach, Jenny waited patiently for Mr Parker to hand Madame in. Then he gave a hand to a surprised Jenny to help her board, folded up the steps, closed the door, and climbed to the seat beside the driver. The coach rocked a moment as the man holding the horse boarded at the back, and then they were off to Wimbledon!_ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:  
> “Most children here get at least a few years schooling, even poor ones like me!” – The Elementary Education Act 1870 established the foundations of English elementary education. After 1880 attendance was made compulsory for children until they were 13 years old, with various exemptions. 
> 
> On Monday 27 June 1881, near Brighton, a man covered in blood staggered out of a first class train carriage. Mr Percy Lefroy told a ticket collector he’d been attacked, and described two men. He said that he’d been hit on the head and remembered nothing more. The collector saw no one else get out of the train compartment but did notice a piece of watch chain hanging from Lefory’s boot. Lefroy claimed he’d put the watch there for safety.  
> Lefroy went to the local police station where he made an official complaint, and then to the local hospital. The doctor wanted to detain him but Lefroy insisted upon returning to London for an important engagement, although he had just arrived in Brighton from London. He offered a reward for the capture of his assailants. Back at Brighton station Lefroy was searched and two counterfeit coins were found in his possession. He denied all knowledge of these. In spite of obvious inconsistencies and highly suspicious circumstances, neither the Brighton Police, nor the railway police considered it necessary to detain Lefroy. He was permitted on a London train, escorted by detective George Holmes {yes, really!}.  
> Meanwhile, the carriage where the assault took place was examined. Three bullet marks were found and there was blood everywhere, along with signs of a fierce struggle. The railway line was searched and in Balcombe Tunnel, railway staff found the body of an elderly man; retired corn merchant Isaac Gold. Gold had been shot and stabbed. A knife smeared with blood was found near his body. He had been robbed of his watch and chain and a considerable sum of money.  
> News of the discovery was passed along the line and Holmes received a telegram from Brighton not to let Lefroy out of his sight. Meanwhile, Lefroy complained that he wanted to change his clothes and talked Holmes into escorting him to a boarding house kept by a relative. When they arrived, Holmes waited outside. Lefroy left the house and disappeared. A countrywide search was begun. The Daily Telegraph made newspaper history by publishing the portrait of a wanted man for the first time.  
> The inquest on Gold’s death opened on 29 June, returning a verdict of wilful murder against Lefroy. The railway company offered a large reward for information leading to his arrest. The public was very interested and Lefroy was found on 8 July at a house in Stepney. He’d kept the blinds down in his room all day and gone out only at night.  
> At Lefroy’s trial, evidence was given by a number of witnesses including Holmes, the booking clerk who issued a ticket to Lefroy, the guard of the train, the ticket collector at Preston Park, and by a woman who saw two men struggling violently in a train as it passed her cottage. The jury found him guilty after ten minutes deliberation. Lefroy (whose real name was Mapleton) was hanged on 29 November, 1881.  
> Now you understand a little more about the challenges in policing that the Great Detective is working with. 
> 
> Sergeant Gregson: Sherlock Holmes fans will recognize the name as a young Inspector Gregson.


	8. Movin' On Up - Part 3 - The Wimbledon Rifle Matches

The Wimbledon Rifle Matches – July 14 & 15, 1881

 

Mr Parker delivered them to The White Hart Inn in Wimbledon, on the south-west outskirts of London. He and his assistant carried the trunks to Vastra's room while she and Jenny looked over the entrance hall and front parlour of their lodgings. As Parker was leaving he said, "One last thing Madame; John Taylor gave me this for you." He handed Vastra a note, collected his pay quietly from Jenny, and departed with a cheerful wave.

The inn itself was small, only a dozen rooms on three floors, and with their arrival it was full. Mrs Crawford's cousin, Mrs Lundy, welcomed them herself, and led them to their temporary quarters. The suite contained a small drawing room with a polished desk and matching chair, a large armchair by the window for reading and a separate bedroom. There was even a trundle bed that fit neatly under the big bed during the day for Jenny to sleep in.

"How... convenient," observed Vastra as she looked it over, a dubious tone in her voice. She'd grown rather accustomed to having her warm blooded mammal keeping her bed nice and cosy.

"The servants' quarters are already full, but if you prefer your privacy, Madame, your girl can stay with one of my maids. I know she's young, and one hears such dreadful stories sometimes, but my staff are good girls, and won't bully her too much."

Jenny and Vastra glanced at each other.

"Might not be a bad idea, Ma'am," said Jenny, drawing herself up bravely. "I'd likely learn a fair bit from them, and you know I can hold me own."

Vastra thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, for now I'd prefer that Jenny remain with me." There would be time enough get use to the Jenny having her own room when they moved into Paternoster Row.

"That's fine, Madame Vastra. We're usually busy when the Rifle Matches are on, and these days more people are attending the lawn tennis matches as well. Those just finished yesterday, and my girls been sharing their rooms with other maids for most of the last week. They'll be glad to have their rooms to themselves, even if only for a night or so."

Vastra nodded gravely, privately noting to ask Jenny what lawn tennis was. She suspected that it might be yet another kind of competition or game. The Apes seemed to be very fond of games.

***

Mrs Lundy left them to settle into the room and while Jenny unpacked what few clothes they had, Vastra read the note.

"Private Taylor will come by after six o'clock this evening to walk us over to the Matches." She frowned slightly, "I'm still not sure what to make of that Ape. It strikes me as too friendly, and it sees too much, I think."

"How d'you mean. Ma'am?"

"At the tournament, the day you were disguised as a boy, Taylor recognized you as soon as it saw you."

"As soon as _he_ saw me, ma'am."

Vastra rolled her eyes. Honestly, how could Jenny tell the blasted mammals apart? " _He_ didn't directly interfere, but _he_ was watching you very closely, not just that day, but every time he saw you."

"Didn't you tell me he said I reminded him of a girl he knew?"

"Yes, he did. That could be both good and bad. I'd still prefer to exercise caution in dealing with him. Too many males seem to be interested in snatching you away, and I want to be certain he's not another one."

Jenny shrugged and nodded. "Don't see much harm in him meself, but you're right, ma'am. Better to be a bit wary for now. I'll stay close by you while we're with him."

***

Jenny decided to make use of the time until Private Taylor arrived to check the lay of the land, and meet the inn staff. She brushed off the cap and apron she wore when acting as a maid, put them on, and then poked around the hallway until she found the entrance to the backstairs. She went down to the basement, keeping in the shadows while she carefully looked over the kitchen.

The women of the kitchen staff were bustling around preparing dinner, and the two maids were talking in the far corner. After a few minutes of watching, Jenny quietly stepped forward into the light, and was soon spotted by the cook, who took a moment to confirm Madame Vastra's request to take her meals on a tray in her room. Then she introduced Jenny to the others, and gave her the times for her own dinner and supper in the staff dining hall. Breakfasts she would spend with Madame 'to go over Madame's plans for the day.'

"How long have you been in service?" asked the cook.

"Not long, I've been with Madame since March. Before then I worked at a match factory and went to school." Jenny said truthfully, deciding to leave her trouble with the Black Scorpions out of the story. "First time for me in a big place like this," she continued. "Madame's been living in a flat until now so my work was pretty light. Cooking, mending, cleaning. I'm a good cleaner, though!"

"And you're staying for a few days, right? Mrs Lundy asked us to show you some of our duties; give you a chance to learn some of the trade," said the older of the maids.

"Madame plans to stay a week or so. Give herself a holiday before she moves into her new house. Be good place to learn; this inn is kept very nice, and the food smells wonderful!"

"Lots of strangers around town right now, so let her know to be careful if she's out for a walk. And don't go out by yourself until next week when the place quiets down. Most of the town is safe, but it's best to keep clear of the boarding houses near the railway station. Too many rough fellows hang around there."

Jenny nodded, slightly amused. Avoid the rough folks like herself. Always good advice.

***

That evening after an early supper, John Taylor collected them from the hotel and led them to the site on Wimbledon Common. Once again, Vastra was reminded that the Apes of London loved a spectacle! And not just the ones in London, it seemed.

"Blimey, it's like a little city!" Jenny stared at the grand display of more than a dozen flags, flapping gently on poles five times the height of a tall man, the throngs of people, both men and women, and the many tents; large tents laid out in neat rows, tables and chairs inside, small tents with beds and clothing, and huge tents were people were gathered, looking closely at the large boards covered with names and numbers posted there.

"Language, Jenny! But you're about right, there's pretty near 2,500 people here, most of them living in this tent city for the last two weeks," said Taylor. "There's English, Scottish, and Irish teams and for the first time this year, the Welsh national rifle team. No American team though, I'm sorry to say. There's plenty of teams and men from private clubs as well," he added.

"That's what us Green Jackets are doing here. We're shooting in the individual matches. Some of us act as judges too." He offered Vastra his left arm, and after hesitating a moment, she took hold of it lightly, imitating several of the Apes around them. She was faintly surprised; Taylor was slightly smaller than she was. Jenny fell into step behind them, listening to Taylor, and trying not to gawk at everything around them.

Taylor started their tour at the main judges' tent, where the scores from the previous matches were posted. They went by the wooden Clock-Tower, which provided the official time for the day, and several tents serving various refreshments and food.

Many of the men were wearing uniforms, and there was a good deal of saluting between men and officers as they passed each other in the streets between the tents. There were women and sometimes a child or two with some of the men.

Jenny noticed that Madame Vastra drew the occasional long glance. While most were dressed in lighter colours and fabrics in keeping with the heat of mid-July, Madame wasn't the only 'woman' wearing dark mourning clothes, or the lighter colours of half-morning. She was, however, the only one wearing a hat with netting that completely concealed her face.

Taylor showed them around the large site, and took them over to the close ranges, which were laid out for the shorter finals the next day. The long range finals and the Queen's Prize would be shot the day after, on Saturday. Despite being early evening, it was still very hot, and when they walked by a man selling bottles of lemonade, Taylor bought one for each of them. Madame Vastra frowned at hers, trying to determine how to drink it, without showing her face. It was annoying, as she rather liked lemonade; she'd acquired a taste for it while working with the Monstre Gathering. Seeing Madame's problem, Jenny said, "Hang on a minute, Ma'am," and nipped back to the lemonade vendor. The man there shook his head at her question, but pointed to a nearby tent. She waved back at Vastra and Taylor, and went inside.

"Oh, that's swell, now's a good time to ask."

"Ask what?" said Vastra, keeping a close eye on where she could see Jenny in the tent speaking to a man behind a table filled with bottles and glasses.

"Well, I've a thought for tomorrow morning, but it's got to be in the early morning, and I didn't want to just spring the idea on you. Reckoned you should have a chance to say no without Jenny being disappointed."

Taylor spoke quickly, explaining his plan, and while Vastra was annoyed at being put on the spot by this Ape, she admitted that it was a good one. Jenny would find it very educational, and Vastra herself would likely learn a great deal. And so she agreed.

***

Jenny returned in time to catch Private Taylor saying, "It's not far; you can go back to the inn if you want to change to a nicer set of clothes afterwards."

'Must mean after the competitions,' thought Jenny. Mr Taylor had told them earlier that in the early evening, there was often visiting back and forth between the camp streets. Any proper woman however, was safely back in the tents or out of the camp before too late in the night. It was after all still a camp full of men.

Jenny grinned to herself. 'Course 'proper' don't exactly describe Madame or me.'

"Here you go, Ma'am," she said as she handed over a rye-grass straw. "Sorry for forgetting this."

Vastra nodded, and slipping the straw into the bottle and under her netting, sipped a little of the cool and delicious drink.

They wandered through the streets of the tent city a little longer, and then Vastra and Jenny returned to their inn.

"So what was all that about with Private Taylor, Madame?" asked Jenny her curiosity eventually getting the better of her.

"He has arranged an early morning outing for us tomorrow. I am to wear clothes I don't mind 'getting a little mussed up,' I believe was the term, and you are to bring your trousers." She looked up at Jenny. "Could you not simply wear them instead, or is this one of those A… human things again?"

"It's a human thing. There's all sorts of unwritten rules like this. Never could keep them all straight, despite Ma trying to teach me. Anyway, I'll take my trousers and cap along. Best not to give Mrs Lundy a fit on our first full day here by dressing up like a boy. Not polite, you see." Jenny chuckled.

"Very well." Madame Vastra nodded approvingly. "We'll save that for later in the week instead."

***

Friday morning, after a light breakfast, they arrived at Wimbledon Common, and met Private Taylor by the flag staffs at 5:00 AM, an hour after dawn. He was wearing an old dark green wool coat with black buttons, and a dark green cap with a flat circle on top which flopped forward a little over a black visor. A well-polished brass B and a small red fabric diamond decorated the flat circle.

Taylor put a finger to his lips, led them to a mid sized tent and ducked inside, and then quickly

returned with small rifle in his hand and a belt with a leather box tossed over his shoulder.

"No one else home, they've popped out for a bite of breakfast. Did you bring your spare clothes?" he grinned at Jenny, who was staring at the firearm. She nodded and patted her small bag. "In you go then and change quick!"

Jenny was almost bursting wanting to ask questions, but ducked inside the tent instead and Taylor closed the flaps behind her.

Inside the tent, Jenny could here Private Taylor quietly ask Madame Vastra, "So how did Jenny take it when she heard what I'm planning for you this fine morning?"

"I haven't told her. I will leave that to you."

"Hah!" Taylor raised his voice slightly. "You worried she'd squeal like a kid in a candy store, huh?" Jenny could hear the laughter in Taylor's voice.

"No," Madame Vastra corrected him calmly, "I was concerned that she'd sleep out on the Common in order to begin at first light."

"Ah, smart. That would be a mite dangerous for her."

Madame Vastra replied firmly; "Jenny survived on the streets of London for several months in mid-winter, while hunted by a dangerous criminal gang. I doubt your soldiers would give her much trouble, if she didn't want to be found by them."

Jenny decided it was time to interrupt them. She ducked out of the tent wearing her trousers with her hair tucked up in her battered boy's cap. "I could hear every word you say, you know that right?" asked Jenny.

"I know," Taylor replied with a grin. "You can learn all sorts of interesting from fellows who forget that a tent is just a piece of cloth and not solid walls. I spent four years living in tents, most of them a lot smaller than this one. You learn a few tricks if you don't want to share every secret or trouble with the world." Taylor gave her a quick glance over, and nodded in approval.

"Come along then. I've got a swell treat for you two. We're going to visit the practice range and see if you can take a couple of shots for fun. We should have it to ourselves for an hour or so, while everyone else wakes up and eats, so it will be nice and quiet, and not as hot as it will be later. Make sure you both keep an eye out in case another person shows up though. Don't want to be down range if someone else starts to practice. Not healthy, you see. Maybe downright fatal if we're downrange and someone starts shooting."

When they reached the large area that Taylor called 'the range," Taylor checked that it was clear. The target at this end of the range wasn't very far, and was a set of thick wooden boards. Vastra estimated it as 24 paces; about the distance humans called twenty yards. Tall, thick earthen mounds formed a barrier to stop the spent bullets at the back of the range.

Madame Vastra watched closely as the former sharpshooter stopped near a small wooden platform on the ground, and then showed them the small firearm.

"This is a Martini Henry cavalry carbine. It's smaller then the Martini Henry rifles issued to your British army, but it works the same way. It's a single-shot breech loading firearm, which means there's only one cartridge in it at a time. The cartridges contain the powder and bullets and they're carried in this leather cartridge box. Once you've fired a shot, you need to reload to fire again. You can see that it has this lever…"

Taylor spent some time explaining to both of them how the firearm worked, and then basic safety procedures for both the weapon and the range. Vastra and Jenny followed along closely; Jenny asking most of the questions. Vastra had used energy weapons in her warrior past, and was familiar with certain similarities between her people's more advanced weapons and these primitive ones. Vastra was also amused to note that Jenny kept her hands carefully at her sides, avoiding any temptation to put a hand on the weapon until invited. She wasn't the only one who noticed.

Eventually Taylor eyed Jenny with amusement. "Are you sure you're interested? You haven't even tried to touch this beauty yet."

Jenny snorted. "And get my ears boxed or worse for my trouble? No thank you, sir."

Taylor grinned. "Don't call me Sir; _my_ parents were married." At Jenny's puzzled look, he continued. "Never mind, it's an old pretty joke. Mostly used in your Navy, I think. Why do you think I'd wallop you?"

"Ma would rap our knuckles if we got grabby," explained Jenny. "And I know better than to touch a weapon without permission!"

"Oh you do, do you?" asked Taylor, with a sly glance at Madame Vastra. "Now who did you learn that from?"

Jenny glanced back at Vastra, unsure how much she should say about her training.

"She learned it from me, of course," replied Madame Vastra calmly. "Did I forget to mention to you that I'm a fierce and ancient warrior?"

Taylor let out a snort, "Oh come on Madame, you certainly don't sound ancient!" Taylor grinned. "Fierce on the other hand, now that I can believe. 'Specially after hearing you take on that blow-hard Carr-Harris and the Board of Grand Tournament!"

Madame Vastra just cocked her head. Private Taylor continued to surprise her.

Taylor whistled a few falling notes and then lay down on his belly on the platform, and arranged his body and the rifle in what he said was the best shooting position for a beginner, the leather cartridge box open close at hand.

Taylor demonstrated everything first while Jenny and Vastra watched carefully. The Ape was a fairly good instructor, Vastra conceded, it… he explained everything carefully, handled the firearm safely, and made sure they both understood everything that he was saying. He evened warned them that the rifle had a tendency to kick up when fired, so watch their noses!

Eventually he laid the rifle down carefully, stood up and saying "You first Jenny, let's see how you do," motioned her to lie down in his place, and then knelt down beside her.

Jenny grinned with excitement, but was careful to do everything she was told. Vastra stood by ready to step in immediately if either Jenny or Taylor made an error, or if Taylor put a hand in the wrong place.

However, other than leaning down and seating the butt of the firearm more firmly in Jenny's shoulder, Taylor made no attempt to touch the girl, though he remained close by her side. He also spoke to both of them equally, until it was time for Jenny to take her first shot.

"Now, take it nice and easy. Just pick a spot backstop to aim at for this round so you can get use to how the rifle fires. Let your breath out just a bit, then squeeze the trigger..."

"Private Taylor," interrupted Madame Vastra.

"Yes ma'am?" asked Taylor, startled.

"Be quiet," said Madame Vastra.

Taylor looked quickly between Vastra, who was watching Jenny intently, and Jenny, who was carefully sighting down the short barrel as instructed.

"Ah, I see. Don't distract her. Yes ma'am!" Taylor grinned.

A moment of silence, and then, the shot cracked in the air. The rifle jumped slightly in Jenny's hands, and kicked her shoulder. Even though she was expecting it, it still surprised her.

Vastra was surprised how loud the weapon was, and at the smoke that hung in the still morning air. How could the Apes possibly see when they used these weapons in battle, Vastra wondered.

Taylor waited until Jenny had fired five rounds, and then told her to lay down the rifle. When she'd done, he picked it up and checked that it was empty, and then trotted down to the wooden boards and pinned a black and white target to them.

"All right, now that you've had a bit of practice, let's see how you do!"

Again Jenny picked up and loaded the weapon. Taylor took a small brass telescope from his pocket and peered through it, watching the target. When Jenny was ready, she lined up the sights and took her first shot.

"Two o'clock, right on the edge of the paper," reported Taylor quietly to Vastra. He took his eye from the 'scope, and he and Madame Vastra watched carefully as Jenny worked the lever and reloaded the rifle, and then sighted down the barrel again. The rifle coughed again, and Taylor nodded, then reported. "Two o'clock, just inside the black."

Jenny frowned. "Not a bulls-eye? Moved where I was aiming a little bit."

"Don't worry about the bulls-eye. Aim at the same spot as you just did."

Jenny looked confused, but nodded, and repeated her actions for a total of five shots. After she laid the rifle down and stood up, Taylor asked Madame to keep watch on the range, loped down to the target, unpinned it and pinned up a new one, and then brought Jenny's target back to her.

"This is a really swell round!" Taylor grinned.

Jenny and Vastra looked at the paper. "But none of them are near the centre of the target!" said Jenny.

"But they're not far off, you see. Here's your first shot, out on the edge here, and then for the rest, your grouping is really tight! That's half the battle right there. If you have a nice tight grouping, you can learn to shift it on the target. If you had one in the bull's-eye, and the rest elsewhere on the target, that's not as good. It means you're shooting randomly, and just got lucky. This is really good, especially as a first try! Well done, Jenny!"

"Really?"

"Private Taylor is correct," agreed Vastra. "Next time, do exactly the same and keep your shots close together. The rest will come with practice."

Taylor turned and grinned, "You're up next, Madame Vastra."

Vastra preferred to fire standing up; while the stance was more difficult for shooting, it was easier for her then trying to lie down or stand in the bulky clothing the humans insisted on wearing. And she simply refused to look ridiculous in front of this Ape.

Nearby, another man appeared, and Taylor stiffened slightly, but then nodded politely, lifting his hat slightly in greeting. The man nodded back and went about preparing a pair of pistols. When he was ready, he nodded again to Private Taylor, and while Vastra took her turn with the rifle, the other man practiced firing his first weapon.

Madame Vastra's found using the small rifle very interesting. It was her first time using one of the 'firearms' the humans were so proud of, and while it was noisier and heavier and had far more recoil than her old weapons, she still managed a respectable showing. Her shots were in the clustered in the upper left corner of the target, and very tightly grouped. She still liked her sword better though.

While Madame Vastra was on the firing point, Jenny saw Mr Taylor keeping one eye on the other man. He finished his practice round, and retrieved his targets at the same time as Taylor fetched Madame Vastra's. As they finished examining the target, he came over. Vastra noticed that he walked with a limp.

Jenny could tell the man was Quality. He had a stiff but confident air to him sort of like Mr Dawes. His face was lined and weathered. His hair was mostly dark with some grey, but his moustache was more salt than pepper, and Jenny thought he was probably almost sixty. He wore a sort of wedge shaped cap with a badge on it, a green jacket, and strange trousers with stripes of different colours going both up and down and sideways.

He glanced at Madame Vastra and Jenny with curiosity, but only said, "Good morning, Mr Taylor." Jenny liked his voice; it had a nice burr to it and was deep and rumbly, even though the man wasn't speaking loudly. 'Bet he can roar like a lion when he wants to,' thought Jenny.

"Good morning, sir. Madame Vastra, may I introduce you to Colonel Gordon Anson Lethbridge formerly of the 90th Perthshire Regiment. He's the President of the shooting club I belong to."

"Ah yes, Colonel Lethbridge! Mr Parker mentioned you to me as well."

"Madame Vastra, a pleasure to meet you at last. I heard about your efforts in saving the Grand Tournament from its own foolishness. It would have been a shame to lose it; the competition encourage the men to sharpen their skills Thank you very much for your trouble."

"Are you still in the military Colonel. That may be a uniform, although I'm not familiar with all the ones here."

"I am, Madame. Officially I'm with a militia battalion of the Cameronian Rifles of Scotland. However, I'm currently attached to Horse Guards in London."

While Madame Vastra tried to puzzle out why such a senior warrior was needed to guard horses, Private Taylor piped up, "No longbow today, sir?"

"Longbow?" Jenny perked up, "Like Robin Hood?"

The Colonel sighed slightly, "Why is it always Robin Hood?"

"Well, you're not wearing your kilt today, sir, so you don't look much like Maid Marian." Taylor grinned. "Just as well; the Ladies of the Toxophilite Society in Regent's Park would have a word or two to say to you about that! I reckon that most of them want to shoot well enough to claim that famous name."

"Very droll, Mr Taylor, very droll."

"I'm intrigued as well, Colonel," said Madame Vastra with surprise. "You shoot a bow? Is that a common weapon among the A… army?"

"Not anymore, of course. It is more a means of keeping old traditions alive. I'm a member of the Royal Company of Archers in Scotland. We're part of the Royal Bodyguards."

"I'm told that's a big deal among your upper classes," Taylor whispered to Jenny.

Jenny shook her head. "Never heard of 'em," she whispered back.

"Madame Vastra, do you mind if I shoot a few rounds to warm up a bit?" asked Taylor, catching her attention again.

Vastra glanced at Jenny, cocking her head a tiny bit as she did so, as the girl could not see her eyes. Jenny nodded slightly. 'Ah,' thought Vastra, 'we're being 'polite' again. "That is fine Private Taylor," she replied.

Taylor handed Jenny his small brass telescope, and then checked that the range was clear. He whistled his short tune again, and dropped to the ground. Then he picked up the carbine and quickly and smoothly loaded his first round.

Colonel Lethbridge meanwhile, returned to his own weapons. Madame Vastra went with him, interested in how these smaller firearms worked. Jenny stayed with Taylor, switching between watching what he was doing, and peering through the telescope at his target.

The Colonel showed Madame Vastra his two weapons, a 'Tranter' pistol and a 'Webley' British Bulldog pistol. He fired each one at the two targets on his section of the range. He did not offer either one to Madame Vastra to try, but she did not expect him to do so. These were his personal weapons, and Vastra no more expected him to 'loan' them to her than she would have offered him the use of her sword. Especially not on a first meeting!

She was, however, able to ask him questions as to his preference between the two, and how they compared to similar weapons, after he finished firing, retrieved his targets, and was cleaning his weapons. Both pistols had good points and faults, and Vastra found the entire discussion very enlightening.

"You seem very interested in all this, Madame Vastra," the Colonel remarked.

"Indeed, I have not had the chance to observe these firearms before at close range," Madame Vastra replied to the Colonel, thinking with a slight shiver of the armed Apes in the Underground Railway who had hunted her. "Are you pleased with your practice for today's matches?" she asked, shaking off the uncomfortable memory.

"Oh, I'm not competing today," replies the Colonel. "I thought I'd just fire a few rounds and relax before I meet up with the rest of the judges for our assignments. Speaking of which, Mr Taylor, we should be heading back if we're to be on time."

Vastra looked up to see Taylor adjusting the sling on the carbine, while Jenny fastened the cartridge box and belt to her waist. Taylor checked again that the rifle was empty, even though he had just finished cleaning it, and then handled it to Jenny, who promptly shouldered it, standing at something close to attention.

The Colonel nodded, and gathered his own weapons, and a polished black walking stick. Taylor joined him as he was finishing, leaving Jenny and Vastra comparing notes on their experiences.

"And what were you up to Mr. Taylor before I so rudely interrupted this morning?" asked the Colonel, eying the tall female and her small companion.

"Just giving Madame Vastra and young…Flint a chance to fire a few rounds before the day gets busy, sir. The youngster's never had the chance before, you see."

"Really?" drawled the Colonel. "How nice of you to take an interest in the young chap. He even gets to carry the rifle." He eyed Taylor's clothing. "I see you're wearing your old Sharpshooter uniform. You're not showing off to the widow a bit, are you?"

"Don't think she quite trusts me, Colonel;" Taylor replied with an easy grin. "She tends to be a little stand-offish with me. You might want to try your luck instead. A handsome widower might be just to her taste. The new jacket and plaid trousers look rather smart."

"These are Trews, you colonial rascal, and it's tartan, not plaid."

"Former Colonial, thank you very much, Colonel. And you still looks rather smart."

"Why do I let you stay in the club?"

"No idea." Taylor grinned, "Speaking of which, have you seen Captain Simundson today, sir?"

"He's back at the judges' tent. Why, what are you planning on needling the poor man about this time?"

"Don't know yet, Colonel, but I'm sure I'll think of something."

They started to walk back to the tent city. It turned out that the Colonel's limp required the use of a polished black walking stick over longer distances. He grumbled about a graze at Lucknow, which flared up now and again as the years went on.

"Well, young man, have you considered making the Army your trade?"

"A few recruiting sergeants spoke with me at the Tournament, sir, but I'm told I'm still too young."

"Definitely look at the Rifles when you're old enough. We can always use good men!"

Jenny nodded, but thought she'd best change the subject before Madame Vastra asked if the Rifles accepted females. "Private Taylor, what's that tune you whistle sometimes?" she asked. "The one you were using at the range."

"That's the American bugle call for "Lie Down," he explained. "I always whistle it on the range, 'though usually pretty quiet like. It's just my own quirk, you see." He whistled the short tune again.

Jenny pursed her lips and tried it.

Taylor laughed gently. "You've almost got it. Like this…" and he whistled the notes again.

Vastra listened with interest as Jenny tried to match the tune. She'd never been able to whistle herself; her people tended to hiss instead. It didn't take long for Jenny to learn the short tune, and then Taylor taught her the tune for Rise Up. Colonel Lethbridge grumbled good naturedly about 'American nonsense' and whistled the British Army calls for the same commands, which were entirely different. Jenny who was always a quick learned, could whistle all four of the short calls by the time they arrived back at the main camp.

***

The Colonel parted company with them at the Judges area. They went to Taylor's tent and Jenny returned the carbine and quickly changed back to her skirt and mob cap. Taylor left them as he was on duty at the main tent, helping record the match scores.

They wandered around a bit, looking over the temporary buildings and reading the scoreboards from the previous days. There were more and more people arriving; Lethbridge had told them that the matches would be well attended events during these final two days. People would come down from London on the train from Waterloo station. The Queen's Prize shoot on Saturday would be packed. The Rifle Matches certainly did not suffer from the same problem as the Grand Tournament.

Even though it was still morning, the heat was starting to build, so when they went to watch the matches, they took a little wooden tram cart on rails pulled by a horse out to the more distant ranges.

Vastra and Jenny watched some of the contestants practicing on the longer ranges for a time. What Taylor called the 'shooting points' were very simple, usually just a mound of dirt piled up on the grass beside a small sign with a number, and the ones who were waiting for their turn to shoot squatted or sat on the grass behind them. Many wore caps with a piece of cloth on the back, covering their necks. Nearby, however, the judges and spectators had chairs and telescopes set up, and sometimes a small shade tent. After a while, Vastra decided that they should take a walk and they wandered around, looking at the different rifles and uniforms.

As they wandered they heard snatches of the conversations…

"... the men hate losing the old regimental numbers..."

"...yellow facings for the all the Scottish regiments! Yellow! What are we then, all from Clan McLeod or some daft thing...? The Irish at least get green!"

"Well most of Highland regiments always wore yellow facings…"

Neither Vastra nor Jenny knew what the soldiers were talking about. Vastra started to peer more closely at the Apes faces, but couldn't detect any colouring aside from the various shades of pale pink, bronzey pink, yellowish and the occasional brownish skin, that were usual for the local Apes. Perhaps the soldiers were discussing some sort of tribal war paint that was worn in battle? The members of the Monstre gathering sometimes painted their faces to 'look better on stage.' Perhaps 'facings' were similar to that…

After a while, the crowd of so many noisy Apes smelling of gunpowder, sweat and a thousand different scents began to grate on Madame Vastra. Jenny was starting to look tired too and hot as well. Vastra reminded herself that the Apes did not love the heat as much as she did.

They passed the main Refreshment Hall, which despite its huge size was tightly packed with people taking shelter from the heat in its shade.

Nearby they found another large tent where hot tea, lemonade and ginger beer were sold. Vastra spotted a table against the back wall, away from the noisy crowd near the entrance and went to claim it, while Jenny bought their drinks.

The walls at the sides of the tent were rolled up about two feet, to let in the slight breeze. Given the amount of dust that the spectators were stirring up walking to and fro, Vastra was not surprised to see that the wall at the end of the tent near their table was still rolled down to try to keep the dirt out.

Jenny came over to their table, accompanied by Mr Parker who had just arrived, and seen them entering the tent. He was helping her carry their drinks and some clean cloth napkins. "May I join you Madame?" he asked politely. Madame nodded; Parker was a good source of information on the military, and she had a few questions.

"There seems to be a great deal of unease among your warriors at some recent changes in the British Army…?"

"Oh, the Childers Reforms. Yes, there's been a fair bit of grumbling about those. Many regiments are losing their numbers and their uniforms. Can't say as I'm unhappy myself; The Rifle Brigade's come through all right. But many of the older regiments have lost their seniority, and it doesn't sit right with them, you see."

"But surely you told me that you have left the military?" Vastra asked, confused.

"Well, yes ma'am, but there's always a fair bit of loyalty to the old regiment. Something to be proud of. You see?"

Mr Parker explained that the 'facings' in this case were the collars of the soldier's uniforms. The reforms that took effect at the beginning of July meant that many of the colours were being standardized. "The Guards and 'Royal' Regiments, those with Royal, King's, Queen's or Prince Albert's name in their title will be dark blue. The English and Welsh Regiments will be white.

"The Scottish Regiments will be yellow." Madame Vastra nodded. "We heard someone talking about that."

"And the Irish Regiments will be green," said Jenny.

"Right," said Parker. "For now though, you'll see quite a few of the men here in their old uniforms; not all the regiments have received their new ones yet. And you'll see lots of old soldiers and men in militia uniforms and foreign uniforms as well today."

Vastra nodded gravely. While she had very little real idea of how important this might be to the Apes, she could understand how large scale change might affect the morale of these warriors.

They sat and sipped at their drinks in quiet for a few minutes. Fortunately Mr Parker did not feel the need to fill the quiet with the sound of his own voice, a fact that encouraged Madame Vastra to accept the Ape's presence.

In the noisy tent, mixed in with the various chatter…

"What the hell is the matter with you, Keegan?"

A deep, quiet growl should not have stood out, and yet it did.

Mr Parker scowled, looking around for the idiot who was swearing with a lady present. The two tables closest to them were empty, and no one else nearby was speaking very loudly. The voice sounded much closer.

"You're not here to buzz the crowd, you're should be listening instead," another voice chimed in, less gravelly than the first. "There are hundreds of men here, many of them from the old country, and there's bound to be at least a few who'd like to see a change there. All you need to do is pay attention, and chat up any of the lower ranks who you hear grumbling. These reforms aren't popular. They may take this opportunity to vent their annoyance. Listen to them, and get a feel for their views as to… other changes they'd like to see. Men who are brave enough, and know enough of the arts of war may be willing and able to help The Cause!"

"Ah boyo, I'm just having a quiet smoke." A third man replied.

"From a cigarette case that you didn't have last night!" said the second in a scolding tone.

"Ah now, it fell out of the gent's pocket, I swear. Not like these bastards would miss it, more money than brains and waltzing around in their fancy uniforms…."

"Shut yer sauce-box!" growled the first voice again. "We're in the middle o' Her Majesties killers, and you want to pretend they're a bunch of old women! They're not holding a draughts tournament, you damn fool! Most every man here has a rifle, and knows how to use it!"

"Ah, calm down, boyo," the voice that belonged to 'Keegan' continued, "I'm just saying that 'stead of dancing around Whitehall and the old lady of Threadneedle street in a couple of weeks, this lot here and now seem like a better mark. The 'gifts' at the Mansion House and Liverpool capers didn't go as planned' cause those buggers were dolts, but I can whip you up a cracker that'll blow these bastards straight to Hell…"

"Shut Up, you idiot!"

Vastra frowned. "The Mansion House and Liverpool capers? Apparently we have some indiscreet thieves…" she said quietly.

Parker had gone pale. "Madame," he exclaimed, "I don't think they're just thieves! The Mansion House and the Liverpool Town Hall were almost blown up earlier this year! The 'gifts' they mentioned were bombs!"

***

"Bombs!" exclaimed someone at a nearby table. "Who's talking about bombs?"

"Oh don't be daft," said another at the same table, "We're practically in the middle of an army camp. Of course someone's going to be talking about shells, bombs and explosions!"

That didn't seem to reassure his neighbours. Murmuring about 'bombs' and 'explosion' Several men and women started out of their seats, and headed for the exit from the tent.

Jenny grabbed Vastra's sleeve, and pointed at the tent. "They're outside," she whispered excitedly. "That's why we can hear 'em, but not see 'em. Like at Private Taylor's tent!"

Parker and Vastra looked at each other, and Parker headed to the nearby exit from the tent in a hurry, with Vastra, after giving Jenny a motion to 'stay' and 'listen,' following close behind him.

"Bleddy hell," Jenny heard through the tent wall, "What's all the fuss in the tent?"

There was a moment when Jenny could tell that the men were listening to the noise in the tent behind her. And since that noise was now discussing 'bombs' and 'shells' louder and louder, she wasn't surprised when one of the men said, "You've been heard, you idiot!"

Jenny glanced back at Madame Vastra and Mr Parker. It was clear that with the crowd at the tent 'door' was slowing them down. They'd kick up a fuss, Jenny knew, but unless Madame started shoving people out of the way, they'd not get out for a minute or two.

"Scatter," said one of the voices. "We'll meet up later as planned."

Jenny glanced back at Madame Vastra, caught her eye, and gave an apologetic little shrug. She sighed deeply, wondering what her punishment for disobeying an order would be this time. And then she hurried over to where the tent wall was fastened up to let in the breeze, dropped down, and rolled under the fabric of the tent.

"Oh, I say!" came a woman's voice from outside.

Madame Vastra blinked in surprise. Clever little monkey!

"Sorry ma'am, 'scuse me." Vastra heard Jenny's voice. "Just a few folks kicking up a fuss inside. Thought I'd be safer out here."

Just then the crowd in front of her parted, and Vastra was able to get outside, with Parker right behind her. Jenny was kneeling at the end of the tent, her back to them .The girl was peering cautiously around the corner where they'd heard the men.

When they arrived, they saw the area behind the tent was empty. They looked around quickly, but the men where gone.

"Did you see them?" asked Vastra.

"Just their backs, ma'am."

"Go and patrol. Try to locate any of them by identifying either their voices or clothing. Do not approach them if you do, but try to get a good look at them."

"Yes ma'am." Jenny nodded and darted off, weaving deftly between the stiff men and the occasional hoop skirted woman, moving far more quickly that the adults could. Vastra nodded to herself; if Jenny could get another glimpse of the men, and match them up to their voices, it would be valuable information. And she was always eager for assignments such as this.

Madame Vastra turned around, lifting her veil just a little so she could taste the air, trying to get a scent from any of the males. Salty sweat of course. Sun baked cloth and leather. Several types of alcohol (one man must have washed in it!) Smoke…

Vastra cocked her head. The smoke was strong, and it was changing…

"Ah, there you are Madame Vastra!" Vastra dropped her veil and turned to find Colonel Lethbridge and John Taylor striding towards them. "Are you all right? What on earth is all the fuss in that tent about?"

"We heard some men talking who might be bombers or anarchists," replied Parker.

"Anarchists!" exclaimed the Colonel.

"Where's Jenny going?" asked Taylor worriedly, seeing the girl disappearing in the distance.

Parker quickly explained, while Vastra tried to taste the air again, and heartily wished that the two extra sweating apes hadn't shown up when they did. The smell of smoke was definitely getting stronger…

"You can't let her go alone!" Taylor tried to peer through the crowd, scowling as the crush of people thwarted him. "Grown men against a young girl are bad odds!"

"I would not have sent her if I thought that she would not be able to follow them carefully or defend herself if needed," replied Madame Vastra.

And then she heard a yelp from the Colonel, and turned to see him stamping on some of the sun-browned grass beside the tent. Small flames were licking the grass, and even as they glanced over, a flame started lapping at the wall of the tent, rising rapidly..

"FIRE!" came a panicked scream inside the tent.

Vastra looked around quickly, and spotted a water bucket nearby, likely for just this sort of thing. She grabbed it and from the corner of her eye saw Taylor seize a shovel and Parker another water bucket. Quickly they poured the water on the fire, while Taylor threw shovelfuls of dirt on the base of the flames. Luckily, it didn't take long to douse the blaze.

Madame Vastra looked carefully at the ground, wondering what had started the fire and saw something in the short dry grass. She bent and retrieved it. It was a white paper tube filled with shredded dried leaves, crumpled from being crushed by a boot and a bit soggy, but still a little warm to the touch. Madame Vastra examined it closely, noting its scent. It matched the smoke she'd smelled inside the tent. She nodded to herself, gently crushed it to make certain it was extinguished, and then tucked it away in her skirt pocket for later examination.

Taylor stopped and watched Vastra, who was looking at the ground again.

"You were serious before, weren't you. About Jenny. You have no idea how much danger a girl like her…"

"She has engaged in similar scouting missions before. Several times." Vastra shrugged. "Besides, females in this city deal with danger every day of their lives. They walk amongst animals and killers, and must smile at them." Madame Vastra looked up at Taylor with a scowl, "You are not so foolish as to not know this, are you?"

Taylor stiffened. "Just what are you implying?" he hissed quietly, glancing warily at Parker and the Colonel, who were carefully checking the damage to the tent.

Vastra eyed Taylor carefully, noting the sudden defensive stance he'd unconsciously taken. "I was referring to your usually keen ability to observe what occurs around you." She cocked her head. "Was there something else I should be aware of?"

Taylor's face twisted into a scowl for a moment, but then smoothed out. "No," he replied. "Nothing else."

Vastra strongly suspected the Ape was lying. She just didn't know about what.

***

Jenny kept her eyes and ears open, and once or twice she thought she heard a voice that sounded like one of the men. She was able to get a bit closer, and saw him but only for a few moments. Then he was swallowed by the thick crowd, and Jenny didn't see him again. Unhappy, she returned to Madame Vastra to make her report.

"He were a tall fellow with a thick black moustache and whiskers. Didn't see any scars.

Only saw him from the shoulders up. Wearing what looked like part of a uniform, a red jacket."

Colonel Lethbridge was peering at Jenny as she spoke, frowning slightly. Jenny hoped that he would decide he'd met her brother earlier, instead of Jenny herself.

"We'll never find him," sighed Taylor. "Half the men here are wearing red uniforms.!"

"The one bloke, Keegan, he sounded maybe Irish," said Jenny. "Lot's of Irish worked with Da on the docks."

"Are there many Irish here?" asked Vastra

"The Irish shooting team is here, of course, and men from several of the Irish regiments. But besides that, there's Irishmen scattered throughout the army. I'd say almost a third of the British Army is Irish."

"Wish we'd had a better look at them," sighed Parker.

"Jenny had the right idea when she rolled out of the tent. We should have gone through the wall," said Vastra with annoyance. "It would have been much faster."

Colonel Lethbridge looked outraged, "Go through it? You mean cut the tent? Ruin the Associations property?"

"Well, the truth is Madame," intervened Taylor smoothly, "The tent is made of thick canvas, and it wouldn't be very easy to cut it. It would likely have taken even more time than just going around did."

Parker nodded in agreement. "Well, we'd best tell the police." The men started to move off, looking for a police officer.

"Of course," murmured Vastra to Jenny as they followed them, "I could have easily torn the tent with my claws."

"Not a wise thing to do with Mr Parker or the others about, ma'am," replied Jenny, "unless you want to move to a new home at the London Zoo instead of Paternoster Row!"

***

Colonel Lethbridge led them over to the main judge's tent, where a tall police constable was on duty. He listened to Mr Parker's and Madame Vastra's report but was sceptical that it wasn't just men talking bluff. Finally Colonel Lethbridge put his foot down.

"We're going to need the CID. I want them here tomorrow morning before the finals, if they cannot come tonight."

"The CID? Who are they? asked Madame Vastra.

"The Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police Force Ma'am," replied the constable.

"The CID has access directly to the Home Secretary and can bypass the Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police if necessary," explained Mr Parker. "Wimbledon is still within the jurisdiction of Scotland Yard, you see."

"Scotland Yard?" asked Jenny. "We know Inspector Abernathy there! He investigates bank robberies and murders!"

"If your Inspector wears civilian clothing then he's most likely part of the CID. They specialize in criminal investigations, and some of their men have started focusing more on the anarchists and revolutionaries that are causing problems recently," explained Colonel Lethbridge to Madame Vastra. "Which is why I want them here before any trouble starts!" he said sternly to the constable.

"All right sir," the policeman agreed, recognizing that further resistance would be futile. "I'll send a message off to them right away."

***

That evening, Jenny wrote up her notes about the morning's shooting lesson, and more importantly about the possible bombers. She tried to remember as much as she could about what they said, and what she'd seen in the brief glimpse of them. Madame Vastra reminded her, however, to clearly note if she wasn't sure about something, instead of simply guessing.

Afterwards they found a shady spot outside and enjoyed a gentle breeze. Vastra quizzed Jenny on the rifle parts and the safety rules, and deemed that their lesson for the day. Afterwards, Jenny fetched some tea while Madame Vastra mulled over the very little that they'd heard. Part of her could not believe that the Apes would be so violent as to use bombs against non-military targets, and another part was annoyed that she had no idea why they would even do so. If she was going to live in this world, she needed to stop trying to withdraw from it. For one thing, she doubted that Jenny would let her do so for very long. As the only person to actually see the potentially dangerous men, the little monkey may well have tangled them up in a new case.

***

On Saturday morning, Madame Vastra and Jenny met up with the men of the Green Jackets at the Flag-staffs, under the Union Flag. Parker were standing with the police constable they'd spoken with on Saturday, Taylor was lounging against a flagpole nearby, and the Colonel was speaking with another man wearing a suit and bowler hat. Jenny could see that it wasn't Inspector Abernathy; and she wasn't sure if she should be disappointed that he wasn't there, or pleased that maybe a more street smart police inspector was on the case.

As it turned out, Jenny found herself quickly wishing for Abernathy. Detective Inspector Richard Peaslin, not to be polite about it, was an obnoxious stuck-up arse.

"If they were talking about the Mansion House and Liverpool, they may be Fenians," the Colonel was saying as they arrived. "They've already caused trouble in the country this year."

"My good sir, don't start with that," huffed Inspector Peaslin. "Ever since those two Irishmen tried to bomb the Liverpool Town Hall, we've been getting reports of Fenians hiding behind every tree and bush!"

"One of those men sounded Irish. Sounded like he'd stolen a cigarette case too. Maybe someone reported it and said what it looked like!" said Jenny.

"What is a Fenian?" Vastra asked. "Is it like a Chinese?" Vastra glanced over at Jenny, hoping for an explanation, but all the girl could do was shake her head, and say "No idea, Ma'am. Never heard of them."

"They're violent revolutionaries, who threaten to turn decent civilised society on its head!" Peaslin snarled.

Taylor shook his head, and then looked Vastra. "The Fenian Brotherhood is an Irish political organisation founded in the United States," he said quietly. "As I understand it, Madame, Fenianism has two main principles: firstly, that Ireland has a natural right to independence, and secondly, that this right can only be won by an armed revolution."

"You seem to know a bit about it, 'Mr' Taylor. Perhaps I should be questioning you; the most extreme of the Fenians are said to be from America," sneered Peaslin.

"I know 'a bit about it' because I served in the Army of the Potomac in defence of the United States, and there were many good Irishmen who served with me, some of them members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood." Taylor said firmly. "They didn't seem very pleased about the British starving them out of Ireland with your Corn Laws. The ones that survived the famine, that is."

Peaslin sputtered, but Taylor went on, "Mind you, I agree with Captain Simundson; the Fenians' idea of trying to invade Canada West was just plain stupid; it was astonishing how quickly the Canadians decided that uniting into one country so it wouldn't happen again was a wise plan."

"Good heavens! Write down the date in the club minutes, please Mr Parker," drawled the Colonel. "Private Taylor actually said he agrees with Captain Simundson about something!"

"But what does this have to do with the men we heard?" asked Vastra. "And Jenny is correct; one of them may have stolen a cigarette case. If that was reported, it would verify our story, and there may be a description of the thief."

"Most likely, Colonel," the Inspector continued, addressing only Lethbridge and pointedly ignoring the rest of them, "This isn't a real threat at all. I don't understand why I needed to be called down here in this infernal heat for what is probably just some malcontents blowing nothing but hot air!"

"You are here because this is the last day of the Rifle Matches. If anything is going to happen here, it will be today. Besides, this is your best chance to find and identify those men."

"Nothing is going to happen," Peaslin sighed. "No one would dare do anything here, and it's likely all just over-active imaginations anyway!"

"What about the Mansion House bomb in March and the Liverpool bombing in May?" asked Parker. "Those plots were real enough!"

"In those cases, the bombers were captured," replied Peaslin. "By now the bombers should have learned that they are no match for the police!"

"And what's all that about 'over-active imaginations?" asked the Colonel in a no-nonsense tone.

"There is unfortunately some doubt as to the … reliability of the witnesses. After all, Mr Parker is a cab driver, and as for Madame Vastra... well, a witness who conceals her face…"

"What about me?" asked Colonel Lethbridge flatly.

"I'm sorry, I may have misunderstood," Peaslin said silkily, "Did you hear these men yourself, sir?"

"Well…no," huffed the Colonel, "but…"

"Or you… Mr… Taylor was it?"

"No, I was with the Colonel, and didn't hear them either," said Taylor calmly.

"Then we're left with the cabbie and the widow," remarked Peaslin.

"And Jenny!" added Parker. "Who is the one who actually saw them!"

"A maid is hardly a reliable witness," Peaslin said haughtily. "Much less a child! Her head's probably filled with all sorts of nonsense!"

Although she was extremely annoyed at the Ape's obstinacy, a small part of Madame Vastra mind couldn't decide whose expression was more amusing: Jenny's or Taylor's. She recognized this look on their faces; both wore identical looks out sheer outrage.

"You're an idiot," said Taylor, flatly. "Please tell me that not all of the British police are as dumb as you are."

"I say, Taylor…" sputtered Parker, unsure if he should defend the policeman or not.

"Umm…" said Jenny, thinking of Inspector Abernathy. "Well, Constable Palmer's smart, even if he's a bit hide-bound," she said brightly.

"Beside all this, Jenny is my student, not my servant," said Madame Vastra. Inspector Peaslin continued to ignore her, and spoke to the Colonel and Mr Parker.

"Be that as it may, in my considerably experience, females are simply not reliable witnesses."

Now it was Madame Vastra's turn to be outraged.

"Mr Peaslin," began Colonel Lethbridge.

Suddenly Jenny clapped her hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to laugh.

"What's so funny?" whispered the American beside her. Vastra glanced over at Jenny as well.

"Just realized, his name, Mr Peaslin, in street talk it means…um… " Jenny glanced quickly at each on the men, and then down at the front of Peaslin's trousers. "Never mind," she finished, suddenly embarrassed to have brought it up.

Taylor blinked, and then was abruptly trying not to laugh as well.

Vastra just felt confused.

Peaslin sneered at Jenny, and very much on his dignity said "Inspector Peaslin, if you please, Colonel!"

"Inspector Peaslin, then. You seem to be taking this very lightly," remarked the Colonel. "I'll go to the Home Secretary, Sir William Harcourt himself if I need to! He'll make this seriously, even if you don't."

"Trying to find three men in a crowd won't be easy…" Peaslin started.

"Madame Vastra found a cigarette stub near where we heard the men," said Parker. "As she said, the man who sounded Irish may have stolen a cigarette case. If the person who lost it filed a report, maybe you can match the kinds of cigarette and look for men smoking that brand. That might help a bit."

Inspector Peaslin looked up at that. "I thought your name sounded familiar, Madame." He scowled. "You're Abernathy's fair-haired lady that can do no wrong. He was singing your praises for your handling of the Grand Tournament investigation."

Vastra leaned over to Jenny and whispered, "Why does Abernathy think I have fair hair? I don't have any hair at all!."

Jenny just shook her head. "Tell you later, ma'am," she whispered back.

"You just damn fool luck if you ask me," sneered Peaslin. "Your maid could probably have solved that case!"

Vastra smirked; Jenny had certainly contributed a good deal to solving that case, and to destroying the Scorpions. It was probably best not to let the Inspector know that, however.

"Enough of this nonsense! I can vouch for Mr Parker's honesty, Inspector," growled the Colonel, "and Mr Taylor can likely vouch for Madame Vastra…" Peaslin's sneer told him what the Inspector thought of that idea. "Are you planning on investigating or not, 'Inspector?"

Peaslin eyed him for a long moment. "The constable and I will have a look around." His voice, however, indicated that he didn't really believe either Parker or Vastra.

"Inspector," drawled the Colonel, "You might want to start with the local police stationed at the Matches; I understand from reliable witnesses that one of the men might have stolen a cigarette case. You might see if there was a report or description given in." He nodded to the constable standing nearby.

"I'm glad you mentioned that, Colonel, seeing as none of the other so-called witnesses bothered to do so!"

Jenny only managed to move a half-step forward to throttle the man before Vastra caught her shoulder and stopped her. She noted with amusement that Taylor had to do the same with Mr Parker.

"You'd best let me get on with it," said Peaslin and stalked off.

The Colonel watched him go, then shook his head and looked back at the others. "A pity your maid's brother wasn't the witness, Madame," he said. "The inspector might have listened to him."

Taylor smirked but shook his head, "If he won't listen to Jenny, I can almost guarantee he won't listen to young Mr Flint either."

"Her brother?" Mr Parker looked confused.

"Yes, fine young chap. Taylor had him out shooting yesterday on the range."

Parker opened his mouth to say something and then closed it with a snap. He continued to look puzzled.

The Colonel continued. "Mr Taylor, I'm sorry to say you are correct. That man Peaslin is an idiot."

"Should I write that down in the minutes too, sir?" asked Parker with sigh. "You're right though. He's a real piece of work!"

Vastra shook her head and muttered to Jenny, "Of all things, it never occurred to me that compared with his peers, Inspector Abernathy might be considered clever."

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> The Wimbledon Rifle Matches: The National Rifle Association (UK) as founded in 1859, and the first set of competitions on Wimbledon Common in July 1860, on land where Earl Spencer and the Duke of Cambridge, founders of the NRA, held manorial rights. Queen Victoria fired the first shot and gave a prize of £250 for the best individual marksman. This set the pattern for the Annual Meeting which has been held every year except during the two World Wars. The Queen's Prize remains the premier award for the rifleman and the July Imperial Meeting is internationally famous.
> 
> The NRA Meetings at Wimbledon flourished but as the area developed there was increasing pressure to find an alternative site and the last Meeting at Wimbledon was in 1889. After much debate the members of Council voted to move to Bisley, and the Princess of Wales, later Queen Alexandra, fired the first shot at the beginning of the 1890 Imperial Meeting. (From the NRA UK webpage.) I am also indebted to GrantR on the British Militaria Forums on who in 2008 posted a series of engravings collected from the 'Illustrated London News' on Target shooting 1860 – 1897. Much of the details of what Jenny and Vastra see at the Wimbledon Rifle Matches are based on those engravings.
> 
> The paper drinking straw was invented until 1884 by an American. In 1881, a rye 'straw' or stalk was sometimes used to drink with.
> 
> Dawn in mid-July in 1881 would be about 4:00 AM, daylight savings time was not yet used. Sunset near London would be around 8:15 PM in mid-July of that year.
> 
> The Queen's Body Guard for Scotland, The Royal Company of Archers, is the Sovereign's personal Body in Scotland. Founded in 1676, it received its first Royal Charter in 1704. The privilege of recognition as the Monarch's Scottish Body Guard dates from 1822. It was originally formed as an Archery Club and the longbow is still the Royal Company's principal weapon. Shooting remains an important and integral activity with twenty-two major prizes shot for annually, including The Queen's Prize.
> 
> Horse Guards – The Colonel is with the nineteenth century equivalent of the Ministry of Defence. The Horse Guards is a physical building in London, in 1881 the headquarters of the Commander in Chief, and now the headquarters of the Household Cavalry and The London District of the British Army.
> 
> The Colonel was shooting a Tranter 1878 revolver and a Webley British Bulldog. The famous Webley Mark 1 pistols were not manufactured until 1887. Discussions among the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fans/scholars on the internet indicate that Sir ACD owned an 1865 Tranter, and possibly a .476 Webley Model 1892 Army revolver and a .38 Colt M1902 military model pistol. (These may have belonged to his brother, but where found in Sir ACD's safe deposit box in 1974.)


	9. Movin' On Up - Part 4 - The Wimbledon Rifle Matches (Continued)

**Saturday July 16, 1881**

Inspector Peaslin and the constable went to check the police reports for any mention of a missing cigarette case. Meanwhile, Madame Vastra decided that she and Jenny would stay with the Green Jackets as they went through their duties for the day.

"Mr Taylor and I are both judges for the Queen's Prize," Colonel Lethbridge explained as they started walking. "That's shot in three stages, with only the top shots going through to the next stage. We started several days ago with over a thousand competitors. They shoot two sighter rounds and seven rounds that count at three hundred, five hundred and six hundred yards. The top three hundred score qualify for the Second stage where they shoot two sighters and ten rounds to count. From these three hundred, only one hundred make the final stage. That will be shot today."

"So then what happens?" asked Jenny.

"In the final stage," said the Colonel, "the shooters scores from the second stage are added to the scores they make shooting two sighters and fifteen to count at each of nine hundred and one thousand yards."

"The Queen's Prize is the highlight of the week," explained Parker. "It's the most popular day with spectators."

"Parker here is shooting today; he made the top one hundred! He's our club's best shot!" said Taylor.

"That's great, Mr Parker!" Jenny grinned.

"After the winner is presented with the Gold badge, he'll be chaired off by fellow team mates to the tune of 'See the Conquering Hero comes' following a military band and the range officials," continued Taylor. "That's always great fun, make sure you see that!"

"'Chaired off?'" asked Madame Vastra.

"The winner sits on a chair with poles, and is carried from the field by members of his club, or regiment."

Madame Vastra nodded, but then frowned to herself. Hopefully the humans didn't eat the winner afterwards to gain his powers, although she would not wager against it. The Apes had some very strange customs.

***

The Colonel led them first to an old windmill which served as the head-quarters of the National Rifle Association matches. Vastra and Jenny waited while Lethbridge and Taylor received their assignments and instructions for the day.

Jenny soon noticed that on this final day of the matches there were an awful lot of Quality about, wearing what she guessed were the latest fashions. There were lots of well-dressed ladies, who spent most of their time talking about the various fellows who were taking part. Jenny frowned; now that she thought about it she hadn't seen any women shooting in the matches. Just men.

Once the Green Jackets were sorted out, the group rode out to the range in a carriage with some of the officials. The Colonel introduced Madame Vastra to several of them; Vastra in turn hoped that Jenny was paying attention as Vastra herself had difficulty distinguishing one hairy face from another.

Vastra and Jenny spent the morning watching the matches and the crowd. They had no luck spotting the men they were looking for. Jenny did see a soldier wearing a similar cap and collar to one of them. Madame Vastra asked the soldier about it, and he readily identified himself as a lieutenant with the Royal Sussex Regiment.

"Sussex…that means you're in an English regiment, correct? But your collar is blue…?"

"We're a 'Royal' regiment, ma'am. So we have blue facings."

The officer politely answered Madame Vastra's questions, but then begged off to go speak with one of his fellow soldiers. As he left, Vastra surveyed the crowd around them again. "I haven't seen the Inspector about," she said. "Have you seen him and I'm simply not recognizing him?"

"No Ma'am," replied Jenny. "Haven't seen him since this morning."

Vastra shook her head; hopefully the Ape was following up on a clue, although she had no confidence that he'd even be aware of one if it fell at his feet.

***

Eventually they learned what had happened to Inspector Peaslin. When Colonel Lethbridge went for a rest break from watching the range, he found Peaslin sitting in the 'Club Tent' for the officers in the early afternoon, and chased him out. Listening to the Colonel tell the story, Madame was not impressed; the foolish Ape Peaslin sounded more interested in the cigar he'd been smoking than in actually investigating Colonel Lethbridge's' concerns.

As a concession to the Colonel, who was less then pleased with his attitude and made a point of telling him so, Inspector Peaslin finally spoke with Parker. Although the cabbie told him everything he'd heard, it didn't seem like much to go on, and Parker suggested to Peaslin that Madame Vastra's maid might have more information

Unfortunately, Inspector Peaslin never bothered to interview either Madame Vastra or Jenny.

***

Later Taylor found Madame Vastra and Jenny sipping lemonades in the shade on a large tent. "I have a message from the Colonel," he said. "He thinks that your best chance to spot the men again, either by sight or sound, will be at the final round or two of The Queen's Prize. Everyone will be there. Try to concentrate on the Irish Regiments as well; he still thinks that the bombers might be trying to recruit men from those regiments."

Colonel Lethbridge's assessment proved to be accurate. Despite the heat, the spectator stands behind the firing line were crowded beyond belief. Most of the spectators were men but there were plenty of women and children watching as well. They even saw the other Green Jacket from the Royal Tournament, Captain Simundson in the distance. Vastra and Jenny watched carefully and followed and listened to anyone wearing the green facings of the Irish regiments. There didn't seem to be very many of them. Vastra decided that they should be look for men wearing blue collars as well. They had no luck finding their quarry though. The crowd made it difficult to move very far or very fast. Everyone was straining to see the participants and the posted scores. Here and there policemen were watching the crowd, but Vastra suspected they were looking for thieves and fights instead of watching for bombs.

During another rest period, the group retired to a nearby tent to discuss their lack of progress. Madame Vastra said, "Colonel, as well what we heard through the tent walls, I found this." Vastra showed Lethbridge the cigarette stub she'd picked up and stored the day before. "It was the cause of the fire yesterday. One of the men most likely dropped it when they retreated. I had planned on giving it to Inspector Peaslin, but he seems disinterested, and I am not sure it would be wise. It could be valuable evidence."

"Keep it," said Lethbridge. "I don't know how it can be of much use, but you're right; Peaslin will probably either throw it away or ignore it." The Colonel shook his head in disgust. "Lazy fool! He doesn't seem to have made any progress, or indeed made much effort."

"I've known Sergeant Parker here for almost a dozen years through the club," continued the Colonel, "and he's an honest, steady man. If he says he heard something that should be investigated, then it should be investigated. And if Peaslin won't do it or can't do it, then perhaps it's time to have someone else look into the matter. Especially if she already has evidence, and has ready access to the witnesses."

"If the situation wasn't so grim, I'm certain that you'd be a better choice to follow up. However, no doubt you have better things to do with your time than poke about following up on longshots and rumours. A pity, but there it is."

Madame Vastra regarded him for a long moment, and then nodded. "We will continue to observe the crowd, Colonel. The threat against the matches today was unplanned; we may be fortunate in that regard. I am, however, concerned that if we cannot locate the men, they will leave and will only be seen again when their destructive plot is ready. At that point it may be too late."

A shadow fell on them suddenly, and they looked up to see a workman standing just inside entrance to the tent, blocking the light, his face in shadow.

"Yes, what is it?" Colonel Lethbridge asked sharply.

The workman tugged at his cap, muttering "Need some tools, sir," almost too quietly to catch, pointing at a far corner of the tent.

The Colonel waved him in. "Be quick about it."

Vastra watched the newcomer from the corner of her eye, but he seemed more interested in gathering some rope, a hammer and several stakes than in their presence in the tent.

"What about that man you were telling us about, the one from the Royal Sussex Regiment?" Taylor asked Jenny.

"He has wearing the same kind of plain but fancy hat," said Jenny, "Round with a flat top and a badge in front. Sort of a small eye shade thing." She sketched a small semicircle with her hand.

"A visor?" Asked Taylor.

Jenny shrugged.

"Sounds like an officer's forage cap to me," said Parker. Taylor nodded in agreement.

Colonel Lethbridge shook his head. "The man Madame Vastra spoke to today said he was a lieutenant." Jenny nodded. "An officer wouldn't be involved in something like this. It would be completely unthinkable!"

"Just had a quick glimpse of the man yesterday, sir." Jenny shook her head. "Could be mistooked; it all happened pretty quick, and I was trying to get a look at all three of 'em."

"It's all right, we'll all just have to keep a sharp watch. Let's get back to it," said the Colonel.

All but ignored, no one noticed when the workman slipped back out of the tent.

***

Taylor found them seats, not too far up in the stands, in a section with ribbons around it. He waved them into a set of three seats, told them the Colonel had arranged for them to have a good view of the final round and asked them to save the third seat for Parker. Vastra saw that some of the officials they`d met earlier were nearby, so she surmised that this area was reserved for people connected to running the matches.

After he shot his round, Parker joined them in the stands. His score was quite high, but not the highest on the board. Still he seemed pleased with his results.

Jenny had a new mystery to solve. "What are those things some of the men are wearing?" She asked. "Looks like a hat with a handkerchief on the back?"

"They're called Havelocks, they keep the sun off the back of the neck so you don't burn out on the firing line, and that helps keep you cool."

The afternoon was hot, and the sun was strong. Jenny could see that a number of the men were showing signs of being out in the sun a lot; many of them had red skin and burnt noses. "If the men we're looking for are wearing those havelock things, it'll be harder to spot 'em, ma'am!"

"There is nothing we can do about that, except continue our surveillance to the best of out abilities," replied Madame Vastra. She tasted the air, but there was too much smoke and gunpowder, sweat and perfume mixed together to pull out any individual's scent.

Except for Jenny's. Even though her young ape was sweating a little in the heat, to Vastra she still smelled clean and… right. It was a very reassuring smell amongst all these other Apes.

***

As it turned out, the finals finished without any complications. The Queen's Prize of £250, and the gold medal of the National Rifle Association were won by Private Beck, of the Third Devonshire Rifles.

Late in the day, after watching the presentations of awards and a bit of the celebrations, Madame Vastra and Jenny returned to the inn. On their way, Vastra noticed that there were more plainly dressed Apes around then there were earlier, carrying tools and standing in groups listening to instructions. She asked Jenny who they were.

The girl glanced around her. "They're workmen ma'am, like the one we say earlier," explained Jenny. "Probably getting ready to take things down once most folks are gone." Jenny frowned. "At least one of the men I saw was dressed like that, wonder if he's in this lot somewhere." She peered around. "Don't see him. Awful lot of them about though. Can't see 'em all."

Beneath her veil, Vastra flicked out her tongue a little, tasting the air. But what little breeze there was worked against her, the men were downwind from her and she could not catch their scent.

Neither of them saw a workman who half-turned away, but then kept an eye on them as they left the commons, and headed out along the road to the inn.

***

On Sunday, there were no early morning meetings on the schedule. Instead, Madame Vastra was introduced to the joys of a "full" breakfast in their room consisting of fried eggs, bacon and sausages, and cold toast. While Jenny had eaten a bowl of porridge in the kitchen earlier that morning, Madame gave her the cold toast and some of the fried eggs as well while Vastra enjoyed the tea, bacon, and sausages. After their experiences with going hungry neither of them liked the idea of wasting food.

Colonel Lethbridge, Parker and Taylor dropped by on their way back to London to have one last chat with Madame Vastra. They took over a small gazebo in the back garden of the inn, and drank tea, or coffee for Taylor, as they compared notes for the final time. Jenny brought her notebook, and wrote down their comments as the adults talked.

"I've been having a word with some of the officers in the Irish regiments, of course. And Parker and Taylor made the rounds of the camp last night, and listened to the men. All of us heard far more about the recent reforms than anything that would indicate any disloyalty in the army. Most of that was dealt with back in the late '60s, when the Americans were stirring up trouble." He scowled at Taylor, who simply shook his head.

"Problem is," Taylor pointed out, "There's no proof the men are Fenians. Only that at least two of them had Irish accents. I hate to say it, but there are plenty of other radicals about these days. We've had trouble in America as well; just two weeks ago President Garfield was shot. He's only barely hanging on to his life."

Vastra nodded. "And the Russian Tsar was killed back in March; these do seem to be very violent times."

Parker nodded as well, remembering the Russian markings on Madame's travelling chest. Sounded like the woman had some personal connection there.

Lethbridge muttered something about 'Barbarians and anarchists!' Despite their discussions though, the unfortunate truth was that they lacked sufficient information to do very much with.

"Shouldn't we be worried? People could be hurt even killed if things start blowing up!" asked Jenny. "What about the old lady they were talking about? Why would anyone want to harm some old grandmother anyway?"

Vastra shrugged. They were only mammals after all, but Jenny had a gentle streak that Vastra liked, and so she only said, "I'm not sure how much more we can do. The a..men will no doubt leave soon, and the camp will be gone by the end of the day."

Colonel Lethbridge nodded, "Most of the people who stayed overnight in camp or in the local accommodations will leave from the train station today. But it will still take a few days for the workmen to pack things up. Those large tents and the temporary buildings need a lot of men to handle them. The Association hires some local lads to do the work. They make decent money for a few days. Most of them also work for the London and Southwest Railway."

"Still, yesterday was our best chance to find the men again," said Parker. "Inspector Peaslin said they'll likely go back to London or one of the big cities, and fade into the slums until they're ready to strike."

"The CID may be able to connect the men with other information that they have," said the Colonel. "I don't think there's much more that can be done here, Madame."

"I'll have my cabbies keep their ears open," added Parker. "Lots of people jabber on when they're walking or riding without thinking about the cabbie. We hear all sorts things most people would prefer we didn't know."

Madame Vastra nodded. "Inspector Abernathy mentioned that as well. That often criminals are caught simply because they make a mistake, and someone turns them in."

"Let's hope that's the case this time as well," sighed the Colonel.

Eventually Vastra agreed that they'd need to leave any further investigation to Scotland Yard and the Criminal Investigation Department. Taylor borrowed Jenny's notebook, and wrote down how to contact either Colonel Lethbridge or himself in case she remembered anything else. Mr Parker made sure that Madame Vasta had his card; in any event, he would return on the first of August to take Madame Vastra and Jenny to their new home.

They wandered out to the front of the inn, the men chatting amongst themselves and giving unnecessary but well-meant advice to Vastra. Jenny watched the passersby in the street as the adults nattered; not really paying much attention to either. But then a fancy carriage caught her eye, and she spotted what she was sure was the man in uniform in the carriage as it rumbled by.

"That's him!" Jenny hissed to Madame Vastra, not wanting to tip the man off by shouting like an idiot boy. "That's the man I saw with the fancy hat."

The men turned to look, and even though they only caught a glimpse, it was enough. Colonel Lethbridge and Parker were adamant that couldn't be the man; that was an officer! Private Taylor disagreed, and said it wouldn't hurt to follow him as they were all packed up in Parker's carriage and ready to go anyway. The men quickly piled into the carriage and took off; Taylor shouting out a promise to let Vastra and Jenny know what happened.

***

Later that day Jenny found Eileen, the senior of the two maids, in the kitchen. As they gathered their cleaning things, Eileen said "You could have knocked me over with a blade of grass when I saw your cabbie and his friend chatting with Madame Vastra and that officer! The toffs speaking with people like us. It's a rare sight. Officers actually speaking with an enlisted men, with a sergeant around? My dad was in the army; he always said it just isn't done!"

Jenny grinned, "Well the Colonel thinks pretty well of Mister Parker. Maybe 'cause he owns his own business. And Mr Taylor don't seem to stand on ceremony very much. Wonder if that's an American thing, or if that's just him?"

Eileen looked thoughtful. "We've had a few Americans stay at the inn; not many mind you, but a few. They all seem to be very casual. The men like to shake hands a lot; it's very funny to watch them do it with some of the older gents in town. The gents always carry on like their arms going to fall off!"

"Enough nattering though. Tell me more about what you need to learn."

"Almost everything. Ma taught me a fair bit of the basics so I could help out around the flat with the young ones. But Madame Vastra's moving to a big house, so I need to know more."

"Smart. Mistresses can be awfully picky; they can change their minds on a whim, and you're either doing everything over again or you're out on the street."

Jenny nodded. She wanted to learn more about being in service for another reason. Madame Vastra might get tired of having her as a student and decide to send her away. It wasn't much, but if she knew more about being a proper maid she'd be a little less dependent on Madame and able to get a real job if she needed to.

Jenny would never admit it, but she'd learned not to trust adults too much. They seemed to be able to turn on you or let you down far too easily. She knew she shouldn't blame her Ma for dying with the baby, but it still hurt. And what her Da did… No, no more blindly trusting adults to keep her safe.

Eileen startled her from her grim thoughts; "What sort of things have you done so far?"

"Some mending, mostly sewing up tears and buttons and that sort," said Jenny readily.

"Can you darn socks?"

Jenny shook her head. "Never got the hang of it, and Ma liked to do it. Said it was restful for her. Can do the laundry though. Know how to use a flatiron without scorching things. And how to hang things on the line so they don't blow off."

The cook looked up from the stove. "Can you cook at all?" She asked.

"A little. Madame likes bacon and eggs, and pigeon stew. I can boil vegetables too, though she doesn't like those as much. And I do the washing up afterwards."

"Need to get your household a proper cook who can teach you. Or a decent cookbook. Can you read?"

Jenny nodded. "Can write too. Well, print really. And I'm good at sums. I keep Madame's account book!"

"Do you now?" the woman looked impressed.

The staff told Jenny a bit about their lives in service. The servants at the inn where lucky, most had a room, even if it was shared with another maid. In some houses, the servant slept in the kitchen or in cupboards under the stairs or in attics. Jenny nodded, and said that Madame Vastra had spoken strongly against that when Jenny had suggested moving out of Vastra's tiny flat.

Another maid, Molly, told her that in one household she'd worked in, the servants were forbidden to sing or laugh and had to remain as noiseless and invisible as possible. Jenny thought that Madame might like the quiet bit, because Jenny would hear more. It might be fun to learn how to be sneaky quiet.

In that same household, Molly said, if the servants came into contact with a member of the household, they were to keep quiet, avert their eyes and walk out of the room backwards. Jenny was fairly sure she'd have trouble with that. She wasn't sure what Madame Vastra would think about it. Maybe she'd like it. Maybe she'd think it was silly.

The maids described their work as back-breaking and hard. It included changing linen, making up beds, dusting and cleaning the bedrooms, cleaning out fireplaces, polishing grates, hauling coal up to the bedrooms and lighting fresh fires. They were glad of the summer; no fires were needed, and cleaning was easier without snow and mud. In almost all houses, if anything was broken or damaged, the servant was made to pay and the sum would be deducted from their wages.

Eileen took Jenny with her as she did her rounds. Half the inn staff had their half-day off on Sunday afternoon, with the others having their half-day on Wednesday. So there was plenty of work for the rest of them, and since Jenny was cheerful at fetching and carrying, Eileen was happy to work with her. They started at the sitting room on the ground floor. "Now then, usually the dirtiest part of the cleaning in a room should be done first," Eileen explained. "So the grate in the fireplace is the first part of the dining-room you need to look after. During the summer, when there's no fire all you need to do in the morning is dust out the grate, and sweep any dirt from the hearth that's collected there since yesterday." Jenny nodded. "Then rub the bars of the grate, if they are of bright steel like these ones are, with a dry cloth to remove any damp because that might cause them to rust, you see. If there's any kind of decoration in the new house that's used to hide the bars of the grate and the empty space behind it, then straighten it up and make it look nice. The hearth-rug should be rolled up, not folded up, and carried out into the open air for a shake." Eileen shook her head. "Too many servants who visit here have a bad habit of folding the hearth-rug across the middle and kneeling on it to clean the grate. But that makes it weak at the fold and sooner or later it will break there when being shaken. Then sweep it lightly with a carpet broom, roll it up again and bring it back indoors, so it's ready to be put in front of the hearth after the carpet's been swept and the room dusted." She grinned at Jenny. "Did you get all that?" Jenny nodded, and recited back the instructions in short form.

"Right then," said Eileen, "You take care of the fireplace, and I'll take care of the rug, and then we'll sweep and dust together."

By the end of the day, including her usual hour of exercises and bladework with Madame Vastra out in the otherwise deserted gazebo, Jenny was quite ready hang up her dress on a proper peg next to Madame's. Clad in her worn shift she crawled into the little trundle bed and was asleep in moments, much to Vastra's amusement. Vastra knew she'd need to keep an eye on the youngster, and make sure she didn't over exert herself. The young human hadn't learned yet how to pace herself properly.

***

On Monday morning, Jenny helped Eileen clean the room, and learned how to make the bed properly. Jenny was mystified by the bed linens; she knew about blankets, of course, but top and bottom sheets and folded corners and pillowcases were all very new to her.

Afterwards Madame Vastra and Jenny went for a walk. They wandered by the Commons, where labourers were dismantling the buildings. Taylor had mentioned this during their tour on Friday; at Wimbledon the ranges had been developed over 30 years, but the Association built temporary office and refreshment facilities here each year. While many of the competitors and staff lived under canvas during the matches, there was good access to roads and trains, and the town provided plenty of services and ample accommodation for the less hardy.

Looking over the field, Madame Vastra said, "If I remember correctly, Colonel Lethbridge seemed to think that neither you nor I would be happy staying in a tent. I don't see why we would not be. Certainly I lived in one during the warm months with the rest of the troupe of 'Jago's Monstre Gathering', These ones seem large and very comfortable. Certainly softer and less warlike than anything my people used.

"Thought it was pretty funny meself. After spending this last January living on the streets and freezing my ar.. hands and feet off in that blasted snowstorm, a few nights in a nice big tent in the middle of summer would be a right treat!"

Jenny sighed. "Mr Taylor don't say stuff like that, you noticed? No smart remarks about me being 'only a girl.' And he showed both of us how to use that gun."

"Carbine, Jenny. It's good practice to use the proper term."

"Yes ma'am. Carbine," Jenny agreed. "A Martini-Henry Cavalry Carbine, is what Mr Taylor said." She glanced up at Madame Vastra. "That's right, isn't it?"

Madame Vastra nodded and then frowned beneath her veil. She hoped that Jenny wasn't becoming attracted to the American Ape.

***

They passed the distant workers, not seeing one man hesitate as they went by. He watched them for a moment, and then turned back to his work, frowning as he did so. He kept an half an eye on the tall widow and her young companion as they continued on their meanderings.

Why were those two still here? Most everyone else had cleared out. Even now, the boss was in London, keeping watch on a fool of a police inspector.

The man scowled again, lifting his head and watching the pair walk down the road. It could mean nothing, or it could be a problem.

He didn't want to tip his hand, but if they stuck around, he might need to do something about them. They couldn't have any nosy females interfering in Keegan's work!

***

**Author's Notes:**

Wimbledon grew steadily throughout the 1880's and in 1885 NRA (UK) decided to relocate the Rifle Matches. The Matches were moved to Bisley in 1887, and even now are held annually there each July. There is no word as to whether Madame Vastra or other members of her household still attend the matches.

I found the name of the 1881 winner of the Rifle Matches in a digital reproduction of the Launceston Examiner from Tasmania! (archived on TROVE, http://trove.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/article/38224762)

Because someone will be wondering: The King's Prize was first won by a woman in 1930. Miss M E Foster went on to become an officer in the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) during the Second World War, and was still winning prizes in 1958 (the Donegall Challenge Cup,) when the Glasgow Herald reported that she had been competing for 30 years, and had been in the final hundred at Bisley several times.

The descriptions of the maids work is adapted from "The Housemaid and Her Duties and How to Perform Them" (c.1870) found on Victorian London org


	10. Monday July 18 through Wednesday July 27, 1881 - Wimbledon

Madame Vastra and Jenny turned back towards the centre of town, and wandered down the main street. At the north-eastern end they found an old railway station. Nearby, a new station was being built, with men working on both frame of the building and the track-bed.

There were several posters on the outside walls of the railway station, describing the various trains and fares. The stark black lettering on white paper seemed very dull to Vastra. Really, the Apes needed more colours to catch the eye…

“Wonder where the trains go?” said Jenny.

“To London I assume,” replied Madame Vastra. “As to the other direction, I don’t know…” The two females glanced at each other. “Let us find out!” Vastra finished, grinning beneath her veil.

It turned out that the trains ran through Wimbledon to the ports of Southampton, Portsmouth, and Plymouth. Jenny was fascinated at the thought. “Da always talked about the ships he’d worked on at the docks. Came from all over the world he said. But I’ve never seen the sea in my life!”

Madame Vastra glanced down at her young human, but only said “It’s been many years since I’ve seen the sea as well. I must keep it in mind for an excursion.”

***

In the afternoon, while Jenny spent some more time with the maids, Madame Vastra found a quiet spot in the garden, sat in the hot sun, and read the daily newspaper. The inn had a subscription to the Times. There was an article in the paper on the Matches, and tucked in the back was an intriguing ‘lost’ notice. Vastra clipped out items, giving the one on the Rifle Matches to Jenny for her notes, and keeping the other for herself.

***

Jenny spent Tuesday morning with Eileen, learning about bed linens. She’d never had more than a blanket or two at home with her family or even at Madame Vastra’s flat and she wasn’t sure what to do with them. Top sheets and bottom sheets and folded corner were all completely new to her.

And although she would never admit it, even Madame Vastra was puzzled by the extra sheets. However, she found a reasonable excuse (reviewing the railway timetable) to be in the sitting room while the lesson on bed sheets was in session in her bedroom, and was able to catch most of Eileen’s excellent explanation. While Vastra might rarely make a bed, one could never tell when such information might prove useful.

Afterwards, Madame Vastra and Jenny went for a walk again around Wimbledon. The town possessed several bookstores, a chemist’s shop, a tobacconist, the post office and several other interesting looking places. They found a little tea room with tables and chairs outside under a sun awning. There they spent a pleasant afternoon watching the residents go by. While Wimbledon was not a true country town, being just on the outskirts of London, the main street was not nearly as busy as Cheapside. Jenny thought that the locals moved a bit slower, and Madame Vastra agreed. Jenny took the chance to ask Madame about what she could tell about the various people. How much, Jenny wondered, did Madame Vastra actually know about telling folks apart?

Jenny pointed out some easy ones; a telegram boy dodging between men and women on the pavement, moving at a fast walk; and a carter delivering casks of ale to the local public house. Jenny also pointed out a lady and her maid as they passed by in an open carriage, the maid with her back to the horses, her mistress more comfortably facing forwards. The plain dark clothes of the maid also marked her as different from her brightly dressed mistress. On the other hand, the town constable was the one person Madame Vastra recognized easily; she’d seen Constable Palmer is a similar uniform many times.

Just before lunch, Vastra spotted two Apes with what looked like sheep’s wool on their heads and wearing long flowing black robes. She asked Jenny about them, and after a moment’s thought, Jenny guessed that they were barristers or solicitors, running between the local law court and their offices. This seemed possible to Vastra, especially when she saw the police constable salute them politely as they passed. 

“You rely on your sight a great deal, don’t you?” asked Vastra. “If your people are dressed in certain clothes, then that guides what you believe them to be.”

Jenny blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Well that and the way they talk, right? You can tell an awful lot about a person by the way they talk. Like where they’re from, what sort of folks they are, a bit about their family… Don’t you do that too?”

Vastra shook her head a little. “I’m not as familiar with...human accents you are. And your people’s clothes often baffle me. Remember though, that my sense of smell is keener than yours. That’s often useful, although I admit that in some places or circumstances it can also be annoying.”

Jenny shot her a quizzical look. Vastra nodded a nearby trail of fresh droppings from a horse that had just passed by. Jenny made a quick face. “Right. Can see where that’s a bit of a curse.”

“It does mean, however, that I can sense some things that you cannot. Just as you can hear better than I can. If something smells… off, then I know it.”

“Such as?”

Vastra hesitated, remembering the smell of blood when she’d seen Taylor and Abernathy just after the board meeting for the Royal Tournament. Had Abernathy been at the site of a murder, or at the morgue? Why would Private Taylor smell of blood? Unless he’d been to a butcher shop, perhaps.

Vastra frowned. Or unless the Ape had killed someone. She hadn’t forgotten Jenny’s story of the bloody things she’d seen when rescuing one of her pickpocket friends. Could Taylor be a killer?  
She snorted to herself. The Ape was a former army ‘sharpshooter’; of course he was a killer, just as she was herself. The question was, did he still kill, and if so, for what reasons, or had he left that life behind when he left his ‘Army of the Potomac’?

To Jenny she simply said, “I was able to smell the change of smoke from cigarette to grass fire, and I can distinguish between… your people by their scent.”

Jenny thought for a moment and then nodded. “Sort of like telling people apart from their footsteps. Use to make a game of that, guessing which of the adults were in the hall ways at my old flat by the way they walked. Da stomped a lot; Tom's Da walked lighter, but had a bit on a limp, things like that. We’d bet for pebbles. I got pretty good at it,” she finished proudly.

Vastra nodded, making a note to herself to encourage Jenny to further develop that skill. It might prove useful, and it was a trick she herself needed more practice in. Though of course, a superior sense of smell was a far surer way of identifying one’s target.

***

In the evening, Jenny visited the kitchen and collected a large china teapot and one of the inn’s nice china cups for Madame Vastra’s evening tea. The cook was mystified, as far as she could tell; the reclusive Madame Vastra took milk, honey and lemon in her tea. That made no sense; everyone knew that adding lemon to milk spoiled it for tea!

Jenny carefully carried the tea tray back to the room, and Madame Vastra poured her tea, “I’m reasonably certain you could borrow an extra cup and saucer,” Vastra remarked, adding a few drops of fresh lemon while Jenny found her little tin mug.

Jenny shook her head. “This mug’s one of the few things I’ve got left from my family. Not giving it up.”

Vastra poured some tea for her, and watched as Jenny tried to drink the hot beverage. Vastra knew that the metal cup would conduct heat quickly, burning Jenny’s lip if she tried to drink too soon. But Jenny seemed to think that this was something she should do to help remember her mother and siblings. However, Vastra wondered if it was more a Rite of Atonement for surviving while most of her family did not. That was certainly something Vastra herself could understand.

Eventually the tea cooled enough for Jenny to finish her first mug. She put it down and Madame Vastra poured more tea for her, and watched as Jenny added milk and honey this time. “You’ve developed a ‘sweet tooth’, I think.”

Jenny nodded, “Could never afford this stuff. Lovely taste, but could be a habit if I let it. Ma always said too many sweet things were bad for us. Made us too noisy. Still it’s nice for a treat sometimes.”

Vastra cocked her head, taking in the idea. After a few more minutes, she put it aside for now, and began to quiz Jenny on her lessons in housework, observation and their daily class on weapons skills. 

All in all it was a most enjoyable evening for both of them.

***

Early on Wednesday morning, a carriage from the Lundy’s Inn dropped off a tall widow and her young maid at the railway station. At the new station worksite nearby, one of the workman stopped a moment to watch the pair take a basket from the coach and walk into the station, while the groom and a porter started to unload the luggage strapped to the coach. The man gave a nod of relief; the pair was likely heading home, and that gave him one less thing to worry about.

As he was quickly called back to work, the man missed the second couple, a professional man and his servant, who departed the coach a moment later. The valet took charge of giving instructions to the porter, and the man, his valet, and their luggage soon caught the train, though riding in a different compartment than Vastra and Jenny. For Madame Vastra had arranged for something special: a day trip with a picnic basket and two first class train tickets to Southampton to see that port.

They had an excellent trip. They saw the Training Ship ‘Wellesley,’ with its cadets manning the sails, and took the ferry to the Isle of Wright. In the early evening, they returned and were picked up by the driver from the inn, but by that time the workers had finished for the day, and so their shadowy watcher had no idea that they were still in town, and still on the case.

***

On Thursday, Madame Vastra decided that they would visit the local shops in Wimbledon. At the first store they visited, a bookstore, Jenny found a magazine called “Young Folks” which had some interesting adventure stories which were told in chapters, and promised to carry on in the next issue. Jenny decided that it would make good reading and bought it with the small amount of money she kept for her own things. Madame Vastra found a book called “A Lady's Life in the Rocky Mountains” by a female traveller named Isabella Lucy Bird, and thought it might be interesting. If she understood the geography correctly, these mountains were on what the Ape called ‘the North American continent.’ If nothing else, she might understand a little more about their pesky ‘American’ acquaintance.

After the bookstore they wandered further along the high street and found a tobacconist’s shop. After a moment’s thought, Madame Vastra strode in, followed by a slightly more reluctant Jenny. In Jenny’s world, smoke shops were men’s domain, and any female who entered would face a right nasty fuss by scared men defending their pitch.

Madame Vastra strolled about for a few minutes while another customer was finishing up his transaction. Two others were sitting at the back, reading newspapers. One was puffing on a pipe, the other was finishing stubbing out a cigar just as Vastra passed by. She discreetly tasted the air in the shop. The dried, shredded and blended tobaccos created interesting smells, but for the life of her she could not understand why the Apes loved smoke and smoking so much. They already had so much of it in their lives from the coal fires that kept their houses barely warm and ran their locomotives. And to that they willingly added tobacco smoke. All that smoke couldn’t possibly be good for them!

Jenny stayed by the door, glowering slightly at the men in the shop. There weren’t many of them, but she could she could see they were taken aback by having their domain invaded by a woman. Jenny was kicking herself; she should have warned Madame Vastra that women rarely went to such places. Luckily, Madame’s assumed status as a widow gave her a bit more freedom to do odd things.

She slid her arm gently back and reassured herself that her knife was handy beneath the folds of her dress. If any of the men made a nasty move, Jenny would have his guts for garters. No joke.

At last, the proprietor was free, and Vastra approached him with her questions. She showed him the small crushed stub of the cigarette she’d retrieved , and asked if he could identify it.

“Not from just this,” the tobacconist explained. “Almost all cigarettes are plain tubes like this. Could be Benson and Hedges, Phillips from Pall Mall, could even be Marcovitch from Air Street.”

“Marcovitch?” asked Madame Vastra. She pulled the folded description from the newspaper from the pocket of her cloak:

_Lost at the Wimbledon Rifle Match on Friday past, a solid silver large square cigarette case with Birmingham hallmarks. Case has all over bright cut scroll engraving and gilding to the interior, with retention straps. It has a full side hinge and a sprung push thumb catch. Inscribed interior in "With all my heart." Case is nearly square at 3 5/8 inches high by 3.5 inches wide by 5/8 inches deep. Weight is heavy; approx. 120 grams. Contains ten Marcovitch cigarettes. Reward for return; contact Anson S. Hall, c/o Central London Post Office. Finder may keep the cigarettes._

“I am looking into the disappearance of this cigarette case. I have cause to believe it may well have been stolen, not simply lost,” explained Vastra. “By any chance, do you have any Marcovitch cigarettes?” 

The tobacconist turned, brushing his grey hair out of his eyes to see better. Jenny thought he looked a bit like an old sheepdog that lived near the Gin Palace. He looked over the rows of glass canisters behind him. Some contained shredded tobacco, others contained what Jenny recognized cigars, both large and even some very small ones. There were also several containers containing the white tubes of cigarettes. 

“Marcovitch is an expensive brand,” said the man. “I usually only sell them during the Lawn Tennis and Rifle matches. I bring them down from London just for that.” He reached for an almost empty container. “Still have a baker’s dozen left.” 

While he was opening the container, Vastra discreetly sniffed the stub she held, memorizing the smell for a moment. When the container was opened, Vastra picked up one of the fresh cigarettes, and sniffed at it gently. 

Everyone in the store stopped and stared at her.

“Yes, I believe this likely is by the same maker. Of course, I believe further tests would be wise, but it is a very close match.”

"How d’you know…”

“Oh,” said Madame Vastra easily, “I have a very keen sense of smell. I’ll buy them.”

The tobacconist stared at her a moment longer, then shook himself and weighed the cigarettes and wrapped up in a neat little package. Jenny stepped up to pay him, and take charge of the goods. 

"What are going to do with dozen cigarettes, ma’am?”

“Verify that the scent of one of cigarettes aflame is the same what I smelled at the Rifles Matches when we heard our quarry plotting.”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Vastra and Jenny turned, Jenny frowning slightly at the man who was speaking. “Don’t suppose you need a volunteer to test the cigarette for you? Not good for the youngster, you see, and doubt a lady like you indulges in the habit?”

Madame Vastra gave the little head tilt that Jenny knew meant that she was thinking about the idea. After a moment she nodded, and carefully reopened the package and handed the man a cigarette.

"Best outside, maybe ma’am?” asked Jenny. “Lots of smoke in here already. Might confuse things.” 

The man nodded and the three of them went outside, followed by tobacconist and the other customer.

Their ‘test smoker’ lit the cigarette, and settled in to enjoy himself. Vastra sniffed gently, then nodded to Jenny. “It’s the same smell.”

Jenny took a few experimental sniffs, then sneezed and shook her head. “Just smells like smoke to me, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” said the other customer. “I can smell a slight difference from most of the smokes the lads at the boarding house use.” He frowned, looking thoughtful.

“It’s a very fine cigarette,” agreed their tester. He paused for a long moment, and then continued, in a considering tone, “I’ve smelt one of those in the last few days…. Now where…?”

“Probably one of the Quality that came through town on the weekend,” said the tobacconist.

“Wasn’t here on the weekend, town’s always so crowded I went into London for some peace and quiet. Now where… think it was near the station…” the man shrugged. “You’re likely right, one of the gents going home on Monday no doubt.”

Madame Vastra nodded and started to turn away, but Jenny gently caught her arm and took a moment to thank the men for their time. Though she’d been wary at first, truth be told they’d been right helpful. Made for a very nice surprise!

***

Jenny was still worried about the old lady the plotters talked about; it had been nibbling at her all day. So on Thursday evening, when her lesson and chores were done, she sat down and wrote a short letter to Mr Thackeray at the Bank of England. She explained a bit about what they’d heard, that the police inspector who was in charge didn’t seem to think much of it, and then asked if anyone at the bank might know who the men were meaning to hurt. She caught the postman on his last round of the day, and sent off her note in time to catch the evening mail train to London.

***

On Friday morning, just as Vastra was finishing up her breakfast, she saw a hatchling in a smart uniform running up to the inn. Moments later, Mrs Lundy knocked on the door of the suite, and handed Jenny a telegram for Madame Vastra! She also mentioned that the telegram boy was waiting in the parlour, should Madame Vastra need to send a reply.

The handwritten note on the telegraph office form was short and to the point:  
 _Urgent - Received J’s note of July 22. Old Lady is Bank of England. Send Inspector’s Name to Dawes by wire soonest. Letter follows._

"The Old Lady is the Bank of England? What’s he mean by that?” asked Jenny as they made their way downstairs.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” replied Madame Vastra. “However, the instruction to send Inspector Peaslin’s name is clear enough. And I believe we will receive a letter as well. Perhaps today?”  
When she asked the young ape waiting in the parlour if that was possible, the telegraph boy agreed. “If yer friend mails a letter in the city today, it’ll come down on the train this afternoon. I’ll tell the boys at the post office to keep an eye out for it, and make sure it don’t go astray. We’ll get it over here on the next round afterwards!”

“Excellent,” Madame Vastra nodded. “That will be something to look forward to.”

With the help of the telegram boy, Madame Vastra composed a message to Mr Dawes with the name of Inspector Peaslin. Vastra thought it was like writing a letter, and it took the telegram boy and Jenny working together to help Vastra trim the message down. Twenty words back to the City cost 1 shilling, and an extra 3 pence for every five more words. Vastra’s first try came out to nearly 10 shillings!

***

As promised, Thackeray’s letter arrived late on Friday afternoon. He provided a fuller explanation; the ‘Old Lady of Threadneedle Street’ was a ‘nickname’ for the Bank of England. He thanked Madame Vastra for Inspector Peaslin’s name, but asked for additional details. In short; what did Vastra, Jenny and the others hear? 

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Madame Vastra herself wrote back. She explained about Parker and the Green Jackets, and gave James directions on how to contact both Parker and Colonel Lethbridge. 

Jenny was unhappy, and worried that if the bombers decided to go after the Bank, Mr Thackeray or Mr Dawes could be hurt. “That would be a poor payment for their kindness to us.” 

Madame Vastra pointed out that the Bank was quite capable of organizing its own defence, as the detachment of guards from the Tower of London who nightly kept watch amply proved. Still, she could see that Jenny was restless and wanted to DO something. Vastra decided that they should walk over to the town’s post office and send the letter. That way it was sure to be on the evening mail train to the City. 

*** 

Saturday was quiet in Wimbledon. In the City, though, Vastra’s letter spurred a great deal of activity… 

*** 

On Sunday morning Vastra settled into the main parlour downstairs at the Inn. After looking over the bookshelves, she found a copy of ‘Aesop’s Fables’ and read a few pages. She was torn between the charm of the interesting little stories, and the sheer absurdity of the apes believing that animals were self-aware. On the other talon, she herself would have scoffed at the idea that mammals in general, and Apes in particular, would ever become self-aware. And it only took them about 65 million years. At least for the females. Vastra still wasn’t completely convinced about the males. With a few strong exceptions. She decided to read a bit more of the book. 

Half an hour or so later, Vastra looked up when she heard knocking on the front door, followed by voices in the entrance hall. A minute later, one of the maids showed two Apes into the room. 

“Visitors for you, ma’am,” said the maid. 

Vastra blinked in surprise, wondering for a moment who it might be. 

“Good Morning, Madame Vastra! I hope we’re not disturbing you on your holiday,” said the slightly balding Ape with a quantity of fur under its nose and mouth. He seemed familiar and Vastra took a quick sniff. Clean, plump without being fat, not too tall, good clothes… Oh, this was James Thackeray! Of course! There was a tall Ape beside him, dressed in a clean shirt, jacket and trousers, but it looked slightly uncomfortable in the clothes. It smelt of polish and soap. Vastra suddenly smiled to herself beneath her veil. There was a threat of trouble in the City of London, and Jenny was involved. Who else would be here, making sure her young scamp wasn’t getting into more mischief? 

“Mr Thackeray! And Constable Palmer! I almost didn’t recognize you Constable; you look very different without your uniform!” Vastra turned to the maid, “Would you have Jenny fetch tea for ou… my guests, and the notebook from my room?” After the maid nodded and left, she continued,

“You’ve come with questions that need answers quickly, I deduce?” 

“Yes, Madame,” Thackeray agreed. “And also to let you know the results of your warnings.” 

As they spoke Jenny hurried in with her notebook and the cigarettes. She gave them to Madame Vastra, and then hurried out again. Vastra shook her head, and laid them on a small table near one of the chairs. 

“Then we should wait for Jenny to join us. Mr Parker, Jenny and I all heard them but Jenny also saw one or two of them, if only for a moment. And she has her notes as well.” Vastra didn’t mention the smell of the cigarettes. She wasn’t sure if Thackeray or Palmer would understand the possible importance of this. 

A few minutes later, Jenny bustled in with a tea tray that looked too large for her to carry, but which she handled fairly well. She put it down in front of Madame Vastra, bobbed a curtsey to the woman, (much to Thackeray’s amusement,) nodded quickly to both Thackeray and Palmer, and then looked around for her notebook. Vastra shook her head again at Jenny’s antics, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a seat, ready to speak with the males. 

Meanwhile, Jenny found her notebook, but as she was about to sit down when she saw that Madame had forgot (or didn’t know) that as the ‘missus’ of the room she should serve tea to her visitors. Ma had tried to teach Jenny some 'proper adult manners,' and she remembered that much at least. Jenny rolled her eyes, put down her notebook, and poured tea for Thackeray, Palmer, and since there was still a bit left in the teapot, she poured a little bit for herself as well. Which wasn't proper manners, but no sense wasting good tea. 

Thackeray raised his eyebrows at Jenny’s forwardness, but as Madame Vastra said nothing to the girl about it, he put it aside to focus on more important issues. 

Except that Jenny caught his look. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but Mr Thackeray had turned back to Madame and started speaking, and Jenny turned her attention to the conversation. 

“As I mentioned in my telegram, The Old Lady on Threadneedle Street that your plotters mentioned is the Bank of England. It’s an old nickname, dating from the last century.” He shook his head in wonder. “Only you two could go off for a Holiday and uncover a plot. You’ve set the cat amongst the pigeons with your story, my lady and no mistake. Mr Dawes had Inspector Peaslin from the Yard in yesterday and he was Not Pleased that the man couldn’t answer the simplest of questions about the investigation into a possible attack on the Bank of England. Worse, the Inspector seemed to think it was something you practically made up!” James smiled thinly. “Mr Dawes had Parker in as well, who was a bit overwhelmed at all the upper class gentlemen in the room, but he quickly fell back on a good ‘sergeant with officers’ stance and was able to give some very clear and concise answers. Mr Dawes was quite pleased with him.” 

Thackeray scowled, and on such a mild man, Jenny thought it looked pretty grim. 

“The trouble is that while Mr Dawes is taking the story seriously, some of the other senior officers at the Bank agree with Inspector Peaslin; that this is probably all nothing. Their view is that no one in their right mind would attack the Bank of England.” 

Jenny looked up at that. “Inspector Peaslin is a… ass! No, that’s mean; a donkey is smarter than he is!” 

"Mind your language, Jenny!" chided Thackeray automatically, "Even if I do agree with you." 

*** 

Constable Palmer listened quietly. He’d been at the meetings with Peaslin and Parker, accompanying one of the senior Superintendents of the City of London Police. He noticed that Mr Thackeray left out some of the less complimentary things that Peaslin had said about Vastra and Jenny; ‘hysterical females’ was among the mildest. 

Palmer would never admit it to them, but he’d taken more than a bit of ribbing from his chums at the station for being tasked as ‘The Widow’s Babysitter,’ during the Masked Lady Robberies. His part in Jenny’s rescue from the Black Scorpions had toned things down a bit; that was considered good work all told. Palmer, although never forgetting it himself, had played down Jenny’s bravery in standing up to the Tong; the girl was getting enough of a feisty reputation in the neighbourhood as it was since taking on McPhillips and his son at the Gin Palace. Having them practically surrendered to her instead of directly to the police had only added to that reputation. 

Palmer would likely not even have been assigned to the meeting if not for the fact that the note to Headquarters, likely written by Mr Thackeray or his new assistant, had specifically mentioned him as the local constable, and that they expected him to be there. 

In the end it worked in his favour. As the meeting wound up, Mr Dawes spoke with the Superintendent. "While in theory Scotland Yard already has a man on this case, he didn't mention any communication with the City police. Did you hear anything about this before now? 

The Superintendent shook his head. "No, and as the Bank is in our jurisdiction, we certainly should have been!" 

Dawes frowned, and instructed that the City Police take over the investigation if necessary, starting with speaking with Parker and Madame Vastra. 

The Superintendent agreed. “I’ll put my best man on it right away, Director!” 

“Excellent!” Dawes looked at Palmer. “The Bank couldn’t be in better hands, Constable. Mr Thackeray will be pleased to be working with you again.” He nodded to the Superintendent, who was trying not to gape like a fish. “Good day to you both.” 

And just like that, among the men at Headquarters, Palmer went from being ‘The Babysitter’ to ‘The Old Lady’s Best Man!’ 

Palmer himself didn't take it too much to heart. Dawes was the sort of man who could break a man with a word, and build him up again just as fast. Palmer had felt both parts of the man's power, although he admitted to himself that he preferred his current situation. 

*** 

Despite the doubts of the rest of the Board, Mr Dawes had quietly doubled the guard. Thackeray explained they simply did not have enough information to do more than that. “But now the Bank is on alert. We want to catch these men!” 

“It’s rather a pity that Inspector Abernathy wasn’t assigned to the case,” remarked Madame Vastra. “He has his faults, but Jenny’s kidnapping demonstrated then when he has reason, he will act quickly!” 

Thackeray chuckled, “Oh poor Abernathy is beside himself. Saw him at the Gin Palace yesterday, looking for Palmer or me to get caught up on the news. I think he’s worried about you Madame.” 

Constable Palmer chimed in. “With Inspector Peaslin in charge, you see, Inspector Abernathy can’t interfere unless he finds out something that has a bearing on the case.” 

They spent an hour going over what little information they had, but in the end and despite Constable Palmer careful questioning both Madame Vastra and Jenny, everyone agreed that they were only a little further ahead. Thackeray and Palmer had a better idea of what the trio had heard, but they had to admit it wasn’t very much. They still had no idea where the plotters were hiding, or when they intended to strike, or even if they planned to attack Whitehall, The Bank of England, or both. Privately Thackeray wondered if it wasn’t all just hot air on the part of the three men, and almost being caught might well have scared them off. 

At last, Palmer admitted they were done. Jenny gathered up the tea things, and returned them to the tray. She caught sight of Thackeray slightly frowning again. 

“Sir,” Jenny spoke quietly, “Madame’s not been back home for a while, you see, and I don’t know much about the real manners. Did we do something wrong to the tea? The cook here is very good, but maybe I...” 

Thackeray chuckled, the frown smoothing out. “No the tea is fine. I’m sorry, I keep forgetting that this is all very new to both of you. In England, the hostess presides over the teapot, and pours for her guests. Good tea is expensive, you see, and it’s a point of pride for many women to show off their fine silver and china." Jenny nodded, that matched what Ma’d taught her. 

"But Jenny," Thackeray continued, "... well, servants and even students don’t usually take tea with the Mistress and her guests.” 

Now it was Vastra’s turn to cock her head. “Why not?” she asked. 

Thackeray was caught off-guard. "But Madame, surely, even in the wilds of Russia, it's the same thing amongst the upper classes?" 

Vastra simply shrugged in reply. "I admit, I've never given it any thought. If Jenny is present to answer questions and take notes, why should she not also drink the tea?" 

James Thackeray was torn. Madame Vastra might not mind, but Jenny was far too independently minded. If she was ever to be a proper maid, then someone would need to break her spirit. Would need to ‘put her in her place.’ 

And he… well… to be honest… 

He refused to be the bastard that did it. 

It should be Madame Vastra, of course. But the widow seemed quite comfortable with Jenny’s strange mix of subordinate and forward attitude. The widow seemed to see Jenny as much as an assistant as a servant. 

And in the very class-conscious world of Victorian London, that was going to be a problem. 

*** 

Madame Vastra walked Thackeray and Palmer to the door, where Eileen was just finishing dusting the main staircase. 

"Despite all this fuss, are you enjoying your holiday Madame Vastra?” asked Thackeray. 

“I am,” Vastra replied. “It has been both interesting, and a pleasant change from the noise and stench of London.” 

Thackeray nodded. “It’s been brutally hot this July. Can’t remember when it’s been this bad.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind the heat; I’m rather enjoying it.” 

“If we hear anything more about those men, Madame Vastra, I’ll let you know. But now that the Rifle Matches are over, they’re more likely to be back in Ireland, keeping out of sight, than plotting any mischief,” said Palmer. 

Vastra shook her head. “But if nothing happens soon, the bank guards will stand down.” 

“Even so, the guard is alerted, as are the police. They’ll keep an eye on things,” Thackeray reassured her. “Please don’t let it spoil your holiday. You’ll be back in town next week, correct?" 

“Yes, Mr Parker will be here on Monday morning to take us to our new quarters.” 

“Then I look forward to calling on you at your new address,” Thackeray said with a smile. 

“Until next week then Mr Thackeray. And thank you for coming as well, Constable Palmer.” 

Thackeray and Palmer said good-bye, leaving Vastra to her holiday, Jenny to clear the tea things, and Eileen almost bouncing on her toes. 

To Eileen it sounded like Madame and her maid had heard something pretty big last week. She couldn’t wait to question Jenny. She’d finally have something exciting to tell her young man when she saw him and his mates on Wednesday during her half-day off! Much more entertaining than the usual gossip about the town. She could tell the Irishman was getting bored with it. 

*** 

Late on Monday afternoon, the landlord of the Crown and Rose popped into the tobacco shop for a few of his favorite cheap cigars. He chatted with the owner for a bit; catching up on the news around the town. And finally, he slid into the conversation, “Don’t suppose you’ve heard of any of the gentry losing anything valuable over the last week or so? What with all the lawn tennis and Rifle matches? Lots of people about, things go missing so easily?” 

“Might have,” replied the tobacconist cagily. The sharp-faced publican was always interested in caging an extra shilling or two. Not that he really needed it; he ran a decent public house and didn’t water the beer too much. It was the principle of the thing for him. “What have you heard?” 

“Not so much heard, as seen, you see. One of the Irish navies pulled out a very nice silver case for his smokes t’other night, that he didn’t have afore now, if you take my meaning,” said the publican. 

“Did he now?” replied the Tobacconist. “With some nice cigarettes, perhaps?” 

“Just so. Think he might have had a pint too many to drink, you see. His mates were narked 'cause he didn’t offer them one. Now the locals, of course, well ‘what's that bugger doing with something like that!’ was the muttered question on more than one pair of lips. Mind you, I'd hate to accuse a man of havin' light fingers if he simply found it." 

“Yes, might have heard something about that. I’m pretty sure a reward was mentioned. I'll drop a word with the lady who was looking for it. She's here in town 'till Monday next; I have her direction. But keep it mum for a bit, alright? Don’t want it ‘disappearing’ if you understand me?" 

“I do. I do. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Samuel!” 

“And you, Mr Ralph!” 

*** 

Tuesday was rainy, so they stayed at the inn. On Wednesday afternoon, Madame Vastra and Jenny went out for another easy walk around the town, exploring new streets and paths. The day was overcast, and to Vastra, the warm breeze smelled slightly of the recent rain. The pair followed a different path through the streets and byways, just enjoying the walk. Vastra could hear the sounds of wagons and carriages on the main street, a train’s distant whistle, and the edges of human conversations. Eventually they returned by the main road, late in the afternoon. 

Mr Samuel, the Tobacconist, saw Madame Vastra and her maid ambling along on the High street. He popped out of the shop for a moment, and asked the lady if she would be so kind as to bring the ‘lost’ notice by again. To his surprise, although the lady started to agree, it was the cagey young maid who asked ‘ why? What have you heard?” 

Madame Vastra could have kicked herself, of course the Ape would only ask for his own profit; they hadn’t exactly told anyone about the possible thief’s other criminal connections! 

Mr Samuel, without naming names, gave them a summary of his conversation with Mr. Ralph. While the lady’s veil revealed nothing of her thoughts, Mr Samuel noticed that her maid was looking more and more alarmed. She held her peace though while he spoke, and while the lady asked him some questions. Finally the lady nodded. “I shall bring it by first thing in the morning. However, I expect to speak to your ‘friend’ at the same time!” 

“And no shilly-shallying about that,” warned the young maid. 

Mr Samuels nodded, and bid them a good evening. 

Jenny kept quiet until the man was gone, and then turned to Madame Vastra. 

Jenny hissed, “But ma’am that mean the bombers ain’t gone a t’all!” 

Madame Vastra nodded in agreement. “If this information is correct, they’ve been under our noses all this time! They never left Wimbledon!” 

*** 

Meanwhile, at the local public house, Eileen from the Lundy’s Inn was enjoying half a pint of ale with her young man and one of his friends. 

“Frank,” Eileen said, “I heard the most exciting thing this week! You remember I told you about the Widow staying at the Inn? “ 

“Friend of the Missus’s cousin? The one from Russia?” asked Frank, “She left last week didn’t she? 

“Oh no, she’s here until Monday,” said Eileen. “I couldn’t get much out of her girl Jenny, but Madame Vastra seems to have stumbled over some plot! A police man from London was down to visit them on Sunday and everything! 

Francis Corcoran stared at the flighty young women he’d been passing the time with while stuck hiding in plain sight in this prissy English town. “Did they now?” He glanced at the other man. “That sounds mighty interesting, now doesn’t it, Keegan?” 

“Aye, that it does, boyo, that it does.” Keegan folded his hands on the table. If Eileen had looked carefully, she might have seen he clasped his hands so tight that his knuckles were turning white. 

"Tell us more about this, love. Tell us everything you know,” crooned Corcoran. 

“Tell us like lives are hanging on it!” Keegan added savagely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author`s Notes:
> 
> “The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street” – If you check the internet, there are two origins for this nickname:
> 
> According to ‘Historic UK’ : … ‘Was there really an old lady of Threadneedle Street and what had she to do with Banking? There was indeed an old lady…Sarah Whitehead was her name.’
> 
> ‘Sarah had a brother called Philip, a disgruntled former employee of the bank, who was found guilty of forgery in 1811, and executed for his crime. Poor Sarah was so shocked she became 'unhinged' and every day for the next 25 years she went to the Bank and asked to see her brother. When she died she was buried in the old churchyard that later became the Bank's garden, and her ghost has been seen on many occasions in the past.’
> 
> Except, of course, that the nickname predates that: The 1797 cartoon, ‘Political Ravishment or The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street in Danger’, by James Gillray, shows the old lady in modish Georgian costume made of bank notes, sitting on a double padlocked chest holding the gold reserves. She is fighting off the advances of a spindly, spotty, freckly youth who would have been instantly recognisable to the chortling contemporary audience as the man who became prime minister at the age of 24, William Pitt the Younger. It was drawn at a time when Pitt was struggling to reduce the national debt, and the government had ordered the bank to issue paper bank notes rather than gold. 
> 
> The cartoon, said to have been drawn by Gillray straight on to the copper printing plate, since no sketch has ever been found, first went on sale in Hannah Humphrey's print shop in St James's, where passersby would cluster around the windows to view the latest scabrous jokes. (From The Guardian – May 14, 2013)
> 
>  
> 
> And now for the IMPORTANT question - Who pours the tea? 
> 
> Well, according to several etiquette manuals, in Victorian England, the hostess or as Jenny puts it, the ‘Missus’ of the household pours the tea (Vastra usually). On the other hand, another explanation (from my Finishing School Friend) is that often the youngest married woman pours (Jenny in ‘Deep Breath’). Usually servants only pour in public settings, such as a restaurant, not in a private house. 
> 
> In “The Name of the Doctor,” Madame Vastra pours the tea in the Conference Call, as she’s the hostess. Jenny pours in “Deep Breath” and it’s implied she’s doing so because while married to Vastra, she’s treated as the maid. Strax pours the tea later in the same episode, presumably because he’s the butler, also a servant. Or we could simply go with ‘they’re all members of the Paternoster household, and they enjoy thumbing their noses at this convention, as they do at so many others, and confusing the blazes out of their guests.’
> 
> In other words – I can’t recommend Doctor Who for lessons on Victorian tea etiquette. Steven Moffat has mentioned in the past that historical research isn’t his strong suit. He’s likely to change the rules to suit what he’s writing at the moment. It is, after all, Doctor Who - not Downton Abbey.
> 
> In the Dragon’s Heart series, ‘who pours the tea’ will become a running bit of nonsense between Vastra and Jenny. You’ve been duly warned.


	11. Movin' On Up - Part 6 - The Race is on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday July 27 through Friday July 29th, 1881

Later on Wednesday evening, after Corcoran’s lady friend Eileen told them what little she knew, she was sent on her way with a kiss and a vague promise to see her next week. Then the two Irishmen sat and mulled over their next move with an extra pint of ale. 

“We shouldn’t ha’ let her go,” groused Keegan. “If she start’s blathering…”

“You want the hue and cry raised over a girl half the town knows meets me here on her half-day off?” Corcoran growled quietly. “You want our room searched by the _Garda_ looking for her? Do you?”

“Of course not.” Keegan huffed quietly.

“Then use your head. Think on this instead: what’ll we do about the nosy widow?” asked Corcoran.

Keegan thought for a minute. “From what your pretty colleen said,” he started, “sounds like both the lady and the crushers are right clueless about us bein’ here.” Corcoran simply nodded in reply. “So if we take her out now…”

“...then the police will know something’s up, and there’s trouble ahead,” finished Corcoran.

“Fine then,” sighed Keegan. “But we can’t take the chance that they’ll stay clueless, boyo. Not after all our work!”

Corcoran nodded again. “For sure, we’d best get moving then.” 

Keegan lifted his glass. “I’ll get the packages ready. You see to getting us a pair o’ tickets. Soon we’ll treat the nobs to a fireworks show they’ll never forget!”

And the two men toasted each other and drank to that. Thursday was going to be a busy day for both of them

***

 

Although Madame Vastra and Jenny presented themselves at the Tobacconist’s shop early on Thursday morning, it turned out that the publican of the Rose and Crown liked to sleep in after his late evenings. And so it was nearly noon by the time the man showed up.

And then they had to deal with two men who were anxious to gain a share in the reward for the return of the valuable silver case, and who were very wary of answering any questions that could give away the man who had the case until they’d come to terms with how to divide the reward.

“I am not interested in the reward,” Vastra finally stated. “I am interested in finding the person who has the case. There are certain… questions… that interested parties would like to ask him.”

“Interested parties?” asked the shop’s owner.

“Yes. The Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard, and those who guard the Bank of England amongst others.”

The two men looked aghast as their dreams of some easy money suddenly took on a real possibility of danger. A reward for a lost item was one thing, but confronting criminal was something else again!

After some more close questioning, Vastra finally pried the name of an Irishman called Keegan from the barman, as well as the information that Keegan lived in a boarding house near the railway tracks, and that he usually worked as a labourer working on the railway station. 

“Keegan?” said Jenny. “Wasn’t that…”

“The name of the Ape who was smoking behind the tent. Yes, it was. We seem to have found our quarry at last.”

***  
After leaving the Tobacco shop, Vastra and Jenny went to the site of the new railway station, to see if they could spot Keegan among the labourers. While they didn’t see him, they did see another man, who Vastra thought was the workman who’d entered the tent when they were meeting with the Green Jackets at the Rifle matches. She recognized his scent as he passed close by. 

Jenny frowned when Vastra pointed him out; To Jenny it was his clothes that seemed familiar but she was pretty sure he hadn’t been wearing them in the tent that day. She knew she’d seen him before though. She shook her head, putting it away for now, and asked the foreman if there was a man named ‘Keegan’ in the group. The foreman grumbled that the man he was off sick today. When she asked if he’d be back tomorrow, the foreman growled “He’d better be or he’s fired!” He did, however, give her directions to Keegan’s boarding house.

Watching the young maid return to her tall mistress, who despite the heat was cloaked and swathed in her black widow’s clothes and veil, Corcoran knew they’d better hurry up and get out of town. 

“What now, ma’am?” asked Jenny was they started towards the more run-down part of the town.

“Now we go find Mr Keegan’s boarding house, and ask him some rather pointed questions.”

***

However, the landlady of the Keegan’s boarding house had other ideas, and made sure Madame Vastra knew it.

“You’re not searching any room in me place, and not bothering any of me boys” she said. “Not without a proper warrant, you’re not.”

“But…”

“No. I don’t care about what you heard. Bloody gossip, that’s what it is! I’ve got no idea who you are, but John Keegan and his flatmate Frank Corcoran have been living here for the last four months. As far as I’ve ever seen, they’re hard working men; keeping to themselves and not causing any trouble. Only fault I can see is they might like their ale and whiskey a bit too much. But never mind that. I’m not letting some stranger barge into their room on account of some cock-and-bull story, especially when Keegan’s feelin’ ill! Go to the police and get a proper warrant if you can, but I doubt they’ll believe you either!”

And she slammed the door in Vastra’s face.

***

Accustomed to working with Inspector Abernathy and Constable Palmer, Madame Vastra went at once to the Wimbledon police post. She first politely (for Vastra) and then strongly suggested that the local police obtain a warrant to search the boarding house where the railroad workers lived. The police dawdled, and Jenny heard a few mutters about ‘who IS this woman?’

In fact when the superintendent came up stubborn, Madame Vastra so strongly ‘suggested’ obtaining a warrant that Jenny was worried Madame would end up in front of the Magistrates instead of the bombers. Eventually though she persuaded Madame to set the man down in one piece.

Finally Jenny turned to Madame Vastra and asked, “Could Inspector Abernathy help, ma’am? Maybe send him a telegram and lay it out for him?”

Vastra looked over at Jenny, surprised. “I thought you declared the Inspector Abernathy a dunce?”

“Right, I did, but he’s a sensible dunce. He’ll likely listen to you, which is more than this here ‘gent’ ” (at this the superintendent protested at Jenny’s tone, which Madame Vastra rather pointedly ignored) “or that arse Peaslin’ll ever do.”

Vastra decided to try Jenny’s suggestion, so after glowering in general at the policemen, she went to the post office and sent telegrams to Inspector Abernathy, and because he was assigned to the case, Inspector Peaslin as well. After some thought, she sent a short telegram to James Thackeray at the Bank of England, warning him that there was some progress in the case, and that the Bank should stay on alert.

As Vastra expected, Peaslin was silent in response to his telegram, but Abernathy caught the early evening train to Wimbledon to ‘visit' them. 

More familiar with police methods and the obscure language of the local magistrates than Madame Vastra, Inspector Abernathy was able to obtain a search warrant. But it was late evening by the time they had the needed document.

“We’ll serve it first thing in the morning,” said Abernathy. “Meanwhile, why don’t you go get some supper, Madame, and I’ll pop by the pub and see if the barkeep will point out our man, if he’s feeling up to a visit after a day being ‘ill.’ Then I can keep an eye on him. And if he flashes that case, I’ll have an excuse to take him over to the police station right away, and keep him out of mischief for the night.”

***

They returned to the inn, by way of the local butcher for a moment where Jenny popped in and bought some raw beef. At the inn, she fetched a late supper from the kitchen to Madame Vastra’s room; cold mutton and some well boiled, but nicely presented vegetables for Madame with a dinner bun, and bread and cheese for Jenny. Or so the cook believed.

In fact, Vastra enjoyed the fresh beef, a large portion of the mutton, and just a few of the vegetables, leaving Jenny to finish up the rest of the mutton and vegetables. When the girl carefully stored the bun and some cheese for later, Vastra was both amused and saddened at this evidence of old hard-learned habits from Jenny’s days living on the streets of London.

When Jenny returned the dishes to the kitchen later, most of the other servants were in the servants dining hall, taking quietly. Jenny helped the scullery girl finish up, drying their supper dishes as the girl washed; the two of them chatting a bit about the town.

When they were done, Cook handed both of them cups of sweet tea, and they sat for a bit and listened while the older servants talked amongst themselves. Madame Vastra was the only guest tonight, but the inn was expecting several more the next day. The servants were enjoying a quiet evening before Friday’s rush.

After a while, Eileen turned and asked, “Jenny, has Madame Vastra found out anything more about the men she’s looking for?”

“The men she... how do you know… right, you were cleaning the entrance when Mr Thackeray and Constable Palmer left.” Jenny shook her head. “Can’t say much. Thought we’d lost them, but… well… we’ll see. Madame was told something pretty interesting today by one of the barkeeps, and our Inspector friend from Scotland Yard is here and he’s got a search warrant. Might wrap it all up nice and tight tomorrow.” 

“It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard! Just like a real life story from the Illustrated Police News! I told my Frank all about it just last night!”

The Cook snorted, “ ‘Your Frank’ indeed. You watch yourself with that man! He seems alright, but Irish navies are nothing but trouble! Corcoran’s probably as bad as the rest of them.”

“Corcoran?” asked Jenny, frowning. “I’ve heard that name…Did he work on the London docks, maybe?” Da didn’t care much ’bout where people came from; it was one of the good things Jenny had got from him. An Irishman wouldn’t make him even blink.

“Francis Corcoran,” supplied Eileen. “I’d be surprised if he did, he and his friend John Keegan came here direct from America, he said. Their families went over to get away from the famine when they were little tykes; before that awful war the Americans had. Mind if Madame Vastra has found out anything more about the men she’s looking for, Frank might like to hear...”

“Half a mo’, did you say ‘Keegan’?” asked Jenny, trying not to panic.

Eileen nodded. “Yes, why do you…?”

“Oh Hell,” breathed Jenny, “Oh Bloody, Bloody Hell!”

And without another word, Jenny ran out of the kitchen as if there were monsters after her, just as the clock in the front hall struck 9:00 PM.

***

Jenny burst into Vastra’s room, more agitated than Vastra ever saw her before.

“They know! Madame, the bomb men know! Eileen told them we’re looking for them!”

“What? Why...?”

“She didn’t mean to, she didn’t know it was them! But Madame, we’ve got to catch them right now!”

Vastra was still a warrior, even if Jenny was just a young cadet, and so she took a deep breath, and called Jenny sharply to order. “Explain!” she hissed.

Jenny snapped to attention, took a deep breath, and gave a rapid, but reasonably coherent recounting of the conversation in the kitchen. She watched in dismay as her lady’s green face became grimmer and grimmer.

“Enough,” said Madame Vastra, “we need to locate Inspector Abernathy at once! Your instincts are correct; it is very likely that Corcoran and Keegan are now aware we’re looking for them, and may decide to turn the tables, and start hunting us!”

***

They hurried to the pub to locate Inspector Abernathy. Despite attracting every single eye in the room when she marched in, by reason of her being female and a widow and so heavily veiled despite the dim light that no one could see more than a shadow of her face, Madame Vastra ignored everything and everyone as she searched the room for her quarry.

Her young maid, in the meantime, was firmly planted just inside the doorway, glowering at all and sundry and projecting a rather charming little air of menace. 

“Watch that little one,” remarked one of the local men jovially to his mates, nodding at Jenny, “bet if anyone here’s fool enough to lay so much as a harsh word on her mistress, she’ll bite their ankles off.”

The men laughed, but left the widow alone. They watched with interest though, as the widow had a hurried but quiet conference with the recent arrival from London who had arranged for a room for the night in a room upstairs, and was now happily nursing a pint of the local ale. The discussion ended with the woman exclaiming, “I insist. We need to search that room NOW!” 

The clock above the bar showed 9:30 in the evening as they left the public house.

***

They detoured over to the police station first and brought along a policeman. At the boarding house door, Abernathy allowed the local constable to have a word with the landlady, confirming that the Scotland Yard inspector did indeed have a proper warrant to search Keegan’s room. 

The landlady still wanted to fuss about the presence of Madame Vastra and Jenny, but Abernathy politely but firmly overruled her, and furthermore asked her to stop stalling, as the hour was late. Grumbling, she led them through narrow hallways to a flat on the top floor.

They entered the room cautiously, and looked around. In the dim light of the Landlady’s candle, they could see that the room was small; with a pair of thin mattresses on the floor, each with a single blanket. There was a tiny stove for heat in the winter, and the window only had a grimy sheet tacked over it as a curtain. Two small travelling chests stood by one wall, and the only other items in the room that they could see in the dim light were a rickety table, a mended wooden chair and a metal washbasin near a chipped pitcher on a shelf by the window. 

“See, I told you. Clean as a whistle and all in order. Nothing here, so let’s go,” said the Landlady.

“Not so fast,” Abernathy stopped her retreat. “Madame Vastra, what do you think?”

Even for July, the room seemed very warm, and Madame Vastra twitched at the heavy smell of smoke in the air. She wondered if Corcoran smoked as well as Keegan; many of the male apes seemed to be addicted to it. But there were other smells as well. “I smell gunpowder…” she said, taking a careful sniff, “and several other chemicals…”

Abernathy frowned. “Both Mansion House and Liverpool bombs were gunpowder…”

“That proves nothing,” said the Landlady. “The law says you can keep fifty pounds of gunpowder inside a dwelling; or one hundred pounds if you keep it in a fireproof safe.”

They all stopped and stared at her.

“What?” she asked,” You think everyone who comes for the Rifle Matches sleeps in a tent or at a fancy inn? If I don’t want to be blown sky-high or arrested for unsafe storage of gunpowder on me premises, I’d best know how to store powder and cartridges, and what the law is to boot! Getting so an honest woman can’t earn her daily keep...”

“Where’s Keegan?” interrupted the constable. “If he’s ill, why ain’t he here?”

The landlady peered around the room, and then shrugged. “No idea. He’s a grown man; he don’t need me coddling him.”

“You keep tossing rocks inn our path,” said the constable. “What’s that about, then?”

The landlady started to sputter, and Vastra left it to the local officer to deal with her while she surveyed the room, giving the air a discreet sniff or two. After a few minutes, Vastra crossed to one of the chests, trying one, and then the other. 

“Locked, of course, “ she said. “We’ll need to find the keys.”

“They must keep them with them,” protested Abernathy. “Everything they value are in those chests!”

“Won’t hurt to look around,” said Jenny. “They might keep ‘em hidden in case they lose them while they’re working. Especially as there`s a lock on the room door. Might be safer to keep ‘em here.”

It didn’t take very long for Abernathy and the constable to search the room, with Jenny suggesting different hiding places, remembering the different places in her family flat where her parents kept their own small savings. At the end of it though, the keys were still missing, although they’d found several US dollars, and two small badges shaped like harps and stamped from brass.

Inspector Abernathy scratched his head. “Now what?” he asked. “Can’t we just break open the chests?”

“You’re not damaging any of me boarders’ property,” declared the landlady. “You can wait till they come back and get them to open them up.”

While the adults debated, Jenny knelt on the floor, and looked closely at the locks. “Ma’am, these are the same kind of locks that’s on your old chest.” she said suddenly. “Can I have your keys please?”

Madame Vastra simply cocked her head a moment, and then handed Jenny her reticule without comment. 

“That won’t work, even if the same company made the locks, the keys for locks are always different,” said the constable doubtfully, even as he looked over Jenny’s shoulder to watch her work.

Jenny shrugged. “Maybe not, but it don’t hurt to try,” she said as she fiddled gently with the lock. She didn’t really know what she was doing, but thought it best to keep busy while the adults nattered. The key slid in easily enough. She tried turning the key to the left and to the right, and when it didn’t turn, she eased it out of the keyhole just a little bit, and tried turning it again. This time, the lock opened with a raspy sound and a ‘clunk’.

“Well done!” said Madame Vastra. “That was very clever!”

Jenny grinned up at her. “You remember my friend Tom, right?” 

Madame cocked her head in thought, and then suddenly nodded. “Young Robin Hood! Yes, of course!”

Jenny held back a laugh. “His Da told me one time that if I ever had to buy a chest, buy one with a good lock, even if I had to pay more money. He said the cheap chests, they sell them all over see, and sometimes they don’t bother to change the key pattern very much. Figure nobody will ever bother to check.” 

She moved to the other chest, but had no luck with Madame’s key this time. She looked around at the others. “Anyone else got a trunk key?” she asked.

Both Abernathy and the constable shook their heads, and Jenny was about to give up, when the landlady asked “Will you leave me boys alone if you don’t find anything?”

Inspector Abernathy looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Yes we will.”

The Landlady turned on her heel and left the room. A few minute later, she returned with a large ring of keys. “These are from a few old trunks,” she said defensively, “left behind when some o’ me borders can't pay their rent and skip out. It happens sometimes.”

Jenny kept quiet. There had to be ten keys on the ring. And if only half the borders who skipped out left a key…

That was an awful lot of money for anyone to lose. Least of all a middle-aged woman trying to hold her life together by renting out rooms. The only good thing that Jenny could see was that some of the keys looked really old and tarnished. Likely the contents of the abandoned chests were long since sold off. Jenny shook her head, nothing she could do about it for now, and started trying the keys in the lock. 

In the meantime, Inspector Abernathy and Madame Vastra examined the open chest. It contained a few extra clothes, some large worn neck cloths, and a small stack of paper with sketches and notes.

“That’s Corcoran’s chest,” the landlady informed them, “I recognize one of the kerchiefs he wears from time to time.” 

Abernathy picked up the sheaf of papers, and backed up slightly. The stove was nearby and he bumped into it, and then jumped away again.

“Ow!” he yelped. “That’s hot!” 

The constable looked over, puzzled. “Can’t be, sir. It’s the middle of summer, and it’s been hot as bla… anything.” he finished with a quick glance at Madame Vastra. “Why would any sane man have the stove burning?”

The Landlady shrugged. “Maybe Keegan had the chills,” she said.

Jenny frowned, a half remembered talk with Madame Vastra from a few weeks ago dancing in her head. About burning… the stock certificates they’d… captured! “If the stove’s be’in used on a hot summer day, maybe they was burning something they didn’ want found…” she said with excitement.

Vastra jolted in surprise, then crossed quickly to the stove, opened it and looked in. There was a short pause as she considered the contents and then she shouted, “Jenny, water, now!”

Jenny leapt up from the floor and grabbed the chipped pitcher from the shelf near the window..

It was empty. She looked around, desperately seeking a new target. Her eye lit on the nearby washbasin and with a quick glance she saw that it still had some soapy water in it. 

Jenny brushed by Vastra, threw the contents of the washbasin into the stove, and while the steam hissed out, she used the keys in her hand to scrape the smouldering mess from the stove into the washbasin, and then set it on the floor. Madame Vastra bent and examined the burnt offerings. 

There were several blacked things in the basin, which looked like small logs to Jenny. Then she saw that some of the burned bits had letters on them. Vastra gave one a cautious poke, and it unrolled into a pile of printed paper, the outer layers black and burnt, but the inner layers were still white and readable. Bits of charred string held one or two of the rolls together, on another one part of the sting had burned through, the paper had unrolled and started to burn. Jenny stared at them quizzically for a moment and then realized what she was seeing.

“Magazines! They’re magazines, Ma’am, like the one I bought t’other day!” 

Vastra carefully examined the sodden lumps. “In fact,” she said, “They are not collections of stories, but are rather like scientific journals.” She carefully examined part of a charred page. “Although they were written in far simpler language than I’ve ever seen in an academic journal before.” This time it was Madame Vastra’s turn to have everyone stare at her for a long moment. 

Inspector Abernathy and the constable then crowded around the basin, looking at the other magazines. Abernathy carefully picked up part of one and leafed through it. 

“I’ve heard about these;” said Abernathy. “The Fenians distribute them at their meetings in America. They’re manuals for the construction of explosives!” 

“Look at this rubbish,” growled the constable. “‘Science is ‘the weapon of the weak,’” he read with a sneer. “ ‘Weapon of the coward’ is more like it!”

Vastra shrugged, “My people use to say “One skilled scientist is worth an army.’”

When the men stared at Madame for a moment, Jenny jumped in. “Russians weren’t really your people though, were they ma’am?” she prompted.

Jenny could see Vastra puzzling out what she was saying, and could only hope Madame remembered she was pretending to be a British woman who’d lived in Russia for many years.

“No,” Vastra agreed slowly, after a long moment. “The Russians were never really my people.”

The men relaxed. Jenny nodded. ‘And that’s the honest truth too,” she thought with relief. 

“But why didn’t they completely burn?” asked the constable, returning to the magazines.

“Because they were so tightly rolled, no oxygen could reach the interior pages. And without oxygen, the paper simply would not ignite,” Vastra explained. “It also means that Keegan was here very recently. Only the outer pages are charred.

While the adults continued to examined their find, Jenny returned to working on the locked chest. It took her awhile, but she stayed at it. To her surprise, the eleventh key on the Landlady’s ring fit the lock, and turned slightly. Jenny jiggled it around, and in short order, heard the lock click open. She looked back at the adults with a triumphant grin.

Inspector Abernathy shook his head. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed, or very, very worried.”

Madame Vastra nodded. “Impressed I think. You can always worry later.”

They crowded around. Inside Keegan’s chest were several containers of chemicals, including one marked ‘Glycerine’ and another marked ‘Nitric Acid.’

“Nothing wrong with that…” started the Landlady

“They are only the basic ingredients in several high explosives, including Nitro-glycerine, Dynamite, Gelnite, and Guncotton,” Madame Vastra finished for her, the sarcasm fairly dripping from her voice.

For once, the Landlady was left speechless.

Inspector Abernathy looked up from the papers from Corcoran's chest that he was reviewing. “Madame, you should see this.” Abernathy showed her a map labelled ‘Whitehall and Government Offices.’ 

“The office of the Home Secretary is circled,” Inspector Abernathy said with worry in his voice. He showed her another circle. “And this is the Foreign office.”

“Which one is Ireland under?” asked Vastra.

“The Home Office.” 

Vastra drew a deep breath. “What’s this?” An arrow pointed off to the northeast.corner, marked ‘BOE.’

“Bank of England” said Abernathy in a worried voice. “It could mean that they intend to attack both of these offices and the Bank. On the other hand, perhaps they will only attack one and the others were simply… alternate targets.” Neither of them noticed a small black dot on Downing Street.

In the meantime, trying to stay out of the way, Jenny was poking at one of the charred magazines. The partially burned string gave way, and the magazine unrolled. Deep inside was a strange little drawing. It looked like a sketch of part of a firearm; Jenny thought it might be what Taylor had called ‘the lock.” It was somehow tied to a block with many circles with teeth on their edges. “What’s this?” she asked.

Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy crowded around. Even the Constable took a good look. Jenny took out her notebook, and started to make a small sketch of the picture.

Abernathy shook his head. “A trigger and a set of gears maybe? Otherwise, I have no idea. Never seen anything like it.”

They all examined the fragile piece of paper. “Perhaps… the gears… fire the pistol somehow?” asked the constable.

“But why?” Vastra murmured, staring at the picture. 

“Could it be for an assassination?” asked Abernathy. “To fire a pistol at a set time at a place where a person in going to be standing?”

“Perhaps, though getting the victim to stand in the proper spot at the correct time might be a challenge,” said Vastra. “Still, we have enough evidence of a plot, I think. We need to find Keegan and Corcoran. Now!”

“Should we send a message to London, Ma’am? Just in case?” asked Jenny, “I know they’re all adults, but I’m still bit worried for Mr Thackeray and Mr Dawes and the rest o’ our friends at the Bank.”

Madame Vastra considered the maps, and the chemicals and the drawing, and then nodded.

“We will send a telegram from Wimbledon station, and warn them of a possible attack.”

Inspector Abernathy nodded. “Sound thinking Madame Vastra! All the regiments of the Guards are excellent, but a warning to them would not go amiss. Constable, stay here and watch for our men. I’ll send someone over to reinforce you.”

Madame Vastra, Abernathy and Jenny hurried from the room, leaving the landlady to grumble at the constable. Abernathy checked his watch; it was just past 10:30 PM.

As they trotted briskly along the almost deserted streets of the town, Vastra praised Jenny for her quick wits. “Luckily you grabbed the basin to douse the coals and save the evidence.”

“Lucky indeed, Ma’am,” muttered Jenny, “To be honest, I almost didn’t think of the basin. I was looking for the chamber pot!” 

***

They went to the Post Office to send a telegram but as it was after 10:00 PM, the office was closed. The sign on the door stated that it would reopen at 8:00 AM. 

“We’ll leave it for now,” said Inspector Abernathy. “I’ll send a message first thing in the morning.” He looked over at Madame Vastra. “Why don’t you go back to the inn and get some sleep. I caught a nap on the train down so I’ll be alright for a bit. Think I’ll have a look around, then go back to the pub and chat... ”

“Can’t,” interrupted Jenny.

Vastra and Abernathy looked over at her with surprise. 

“Can’t go back to the inn,” said Jenny. “The bomb men still know we’re looking for them.” She shook her head in irritation, and forgot to smother a yawn.

Vastra suddenly understood. It had been a long day and despite the excitement Jenny was almost asleep on her feet. 

Inspector Abernathy solved that problem by taking them back to the police station, and sending along the last of the three local constables with them, with instructions to watch the inn and make sure there were no intruders. 

They returned to the Inn, and Vastra immediately sent Jenny up to bed. She then sat in the parlour and studied the street maps of London from Keegan’s chest for a time, thinking carefully. Keegan and Corcoran were likely working on their bombs somewhere in Wimbledon, but the question was... where might they be? 

Vastra mulled it over, and wrote down a half-a dozen possible places they’d seen on their walks, including the old Windmill on the Commons, possibly a cellar at the boarding house, and perhaps near the new station the pair where working on. Eventually, she decided that she would need more information, and gave up her ruminations for the night. A short sleep might refresh her mind and give her new ideas.

In her room, she found Jenny sitting up on her trundle, leaning against Vastra’s bed and sleeping soundly. As Eileen had taught Jenny, Vastra’s sheets were ‘turned down’ for the night . Vastra smiled to herself; her human must have been waiting up for her and fallen asleep . Jenny wasn’t strictly ‘on watch,’ and Vastra had sent her to bed, so she gently shifted Jenny down onto the trundle bed, curled up on the big bed on the side nearest to her and dozed off.

***

Vastra’s internal clock allowed her only a few hours sleep, and so she was awake before dawn. She contemplated letting Jenny sleep longer, but decided her human was often very useful, and clever as well, so she prodded Jenny awake, and told her dress. They quickly put on their day clothes, and Vastra strapped on her cutlass beneath her skirt and saw Jenny hiding one or two of her knives. When they were ready, they crept down the stairs…

...straight into Eileen, who was just opening the shutters and windows in the parlour to catch any morning breeze against the heat of the summer night.

“Goodness Madame Vastra, you’re up very early!”

“As are you! Hello Eileen.”

“‘Mornin’ Eileen,” Jenny agreed, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Would you like some breakfast Madame? Cook isn’t up yet, but I can get you tea and toast at least.” 

“Tea would be very welcome,” responded Vastra. Beside her Jenny had perked up at the mention of food. Eileen nodded and headed for the kitchen at the rear of the inn, and Jenny followed along to help her. 

They returned a short while later; Eileen with a tea tray and Jenny just behind her bearing a tray with two bowls of fruit. “We’ve some lovely cherries Madame,” said Eileen, “Or strawberries with cream, if you’d prefer. Still too early for peaches and pears, I’m afraid. The baker was just by as well, so there’s plenty of bread” she said nodding at the toast cooling in the toast rack on tea tray. “And Jenny cooked you a few sausages while the water boiled for your tea, but I’m not sure if they’re cooked long enough…” 

“Jenny knows how I like them; they’ll be fine, I’m sure,” said Vastra. She hoped that Jenny had been able to just warm them a bit; she loved the taste of the sausages from the inn’s local butcher, but the staff insisted on cooking them far too much!

“Did your police friend find the men you’re looking for?” Eileen asked as she set the tray on the table. “Jenny here won’t say a word, but said to ask you?" 

It suddenly occurred to Madame Vastra that the best source of information on the whereabouts of the plotters was currently laying out a light breakfast for her.

“We seem to have come to a bit of a standstill,” Vastra said carefully. “The men we’re looking for may be part of one of the work crews for the railway. And they are currently missing. By any chance do you know where your friend is?” 

“Frank?” asked Eileen. “Why would Frank know anything…?”

Jenny listened closely as Madame Vastra spoke, and stepped in to help. “Bet your young man know the all the navies in town pretty well. So he likely knows where the fellows Madam’s looking for are at, you see? The barkeep sent us round last night to talk to him, but he and his mate weren’t in. Do you know where they are maybe?” 

Eileen looked at Jenny then Vastra with surprise. “Yes Madame, they most likely can help! But I think Frank and John went up to London yesterday on the last train of the evening. The station master told me last night that Frank bought tickets earlier for the late train. Frank told me on Wednesday that they’d be delivering some packages soon for one of the stores here in town. They needed special handling.”

“Special… handling?” asked Vastra.

Eileen nodded. “Yes’m, the packages, Frank said they could be a bit slippery , and they’re to be surprise presents, you see. When Frank mentioned it to me the other evening, he was very excited about it!” 

“And when will they return?”

“Well, Frank didn’t say, but I expect they’ll be back some time this morning.”

Vastra regarded her for a long moment. “By any chance did… Frank… mention where these packages were to be delivered? Or how many there are?” 

Eileen shook her head. 

“Very well. Thank you Eileen. You’ve been most helpful. If Mr Corcoran returns before I do, would you please let the local police station know. They want to speak with him; as Jenny said, he may be able to help us with the investigation.”

Eileen beamed. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

Jenny doubted that Eileen would feel that way for very long.

***

They ate quickly, and then in the cool pre-dawn twilight they went to find Inspector Abernathy. He was up early as well, and on hearing Madame Vastra’s news that the bombers were now in London, he ran over to the boarding house, and sent one of the constables there in search of the local telegraph operator, while Abernathy, Vastra and Jenny went to the Post Office. 

They soon heard a commotion and looked up to see the sleepy wire operator protesting fiercely while being hurried along by the constable. But within a minute or two he was inside at his key. The operator rattled off an opening sequence of short and long clicks . But there was only silence from the receiver. The operator frowned, and tried again. Nothing.

“Something’s not right,” the man said. “I’m not getting any acknowledgment from London.” 

“Is that unusual?” asked Vastra.

“Very unusual,” said the telegraph operator. “While most offices close at night, the telegraph at the Central Post Office in London gets messages from abroad at any hour. They have someone manning the key at all times. So do several of the large train stations, such as Victoria and Paddington.”

“What would cause such a disruption?” asked Vastra.

The telegraph operator shrugged. “The wires could be down. They come down sometimes if it’s windy or in heavy rain or snow. Or occasionally youngsters or animals knock them down by accident. Or take a pot shot at the insulators with their catapults.”

Vastra glanced out the window at the clear and quiet dawn. “I don’t believe that is the issue here.” She thought for a long moment. “Could the wires have been cut?”

The man started in surprise. “Well, yes, I suppose so. But why?”

“To prevent us from warning anyone of an attack!” She looked over at Abernathy. “We need to go to London immediately!” 

They hurried to the Railway station and consulted the timetables. Although it was early, there were a few trains running to London. The next train, a freight and mail train, would come through in ten minutes, at 4:30 AM. The next train after that was a passenger train,which would stop at 5:00 AM in Wimbledon. The journey was sixty minutes to Waterloo Station, in South London. The same trip by coach would take at least two hours, even if they could find someone to take them. 

***

Inspector Abernathy was able to convince the station master that he needed to be on the mail train. When the man balked about Madame Vastra and Jenny, Vastra almost hissed, slapped her purse on the countertop, and made it clear that ‘no’ was not an option. 

“No sitting on the mailbags, ma’am!” warned the station master “There’s a bench in the mail car, stay there and stay out of the way.” Vastra simply shrugged. 

Once on the train and moving towards London, Jenny could barely keep from bouncing on the wooden bench. She felt all fired up and ready to go, but she had to keep still. ‘Can’t do anything about it right now.’ she thought. ‘Ma always said don’t fidget. Look at Madame there, barely even blinking. Wonder if that’s a warrior thing, or a reptile thing?’ She took a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm down, so she didn’t wear herself out.

They ran into a problem as they continued up the line. When they stopped to take on or drop off the mail, Abernathy checked with the local telegraph offices. All reported that London was down. At several spots, they even saw the cut lines beside the railway tracks. After a bit, Madame Vastra asked Inspector Abernathy, “Can you send a telegram from the Waterloo railway station?” 

Abernathy shook his head. “No, they don’t have an office there. I could send one from the Southern District post office, they’re open this early, but we’d waste time going east instead of west. We’d be almost over at London Bridge!”

“Very well. We'll split up as planned.” Vastra eyed Jenny sternly. “Repeat your orders,” she commanded.

“Go straight to the Headquarters of the City Police on Old Jewry. Find Constable Palmer if he’s there and on duty, and give him this message,” Jenny held up Vastra’s note. 

Vastra nodded. “Very good. Make it so.” 

***

They found two cabs outside Waterloo Station. Madame Vastra gave firm instructions to the first driver to deliver Jenny to the Bank as quickly as possible. She helped Jenny climb into the cab, but at the last moment, Jenny turned to her. 

“Madame…” the girl hesitated a moment, unsure what to say.

“Yes Jenny?” Vastra asked quietly.

Jenny want to say something, something important, but didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. She shook her head once or twice, then she straightened up, stiffening her resolve. “If The Co…. Arse that Walks like a Man shows up,” she growled, “Send him over to the Bank if you can. He won’t be under your feet then, and they’ve got lots of clever folks about, he can’t do much harm there. Better to keep him out of trouble.” It wasn’t what she’d been trying to say, but it sounded like a good idea. 

Jenny could almost see Madame Vastra smirked at her through her veil. “I’ll take that advice under strong consideration. Carry on, Jenny.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

And in a flurry of shouted commands and running horse, they separated, each to their own destiny.

***

Waterloo Station was infamous for its poor location south of the Thames. In theory, it should have been about ten minutes from Waterloo to Whitehall if there was no traffic on the Westminster Bridge, and perhaps fifteen minutes from Waterloo to the Bank of England by the Blackfriars Bridge.

The only problem was, even just past dawn in mid-summer, there was always traffic, usually snarled and slow traffic, on both of those bridges. 

It took Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy almost half an hour to reach Whitehall.

Jenny, on the other hand, took one look at the tangled traffic ahead of the cab on Blackfriars Bridge, and decided her feet would be faster, despite her skirt. She called to the cabby and after he gratefully swung over to the cab stand at Blackfriars Railway Station, she paid him and took off on foot at a brisk trot. She wove with nimble skill between the adults trudging to work. Despite the deadly seriousness of her mission, it was a nice morning, not too hot yet, and Jenny enjoyed just being able to move after an hour cooped up on the train.

Less than ten minutes later she was across the river, and trotted north on New Bridge Street to Ludgate Hill Station. She knew there was another cab stand there. Better yet, at least some of the cabbies were likely Mr Parker’s men. He told them once that his company was near Ludgate Hill. 

Several cabbies were standing in a group near their cabs, while one or two more were checking their cabs and horses. Jenny jogged up to the first cab, and called for the cabby. A young man looked up from the group, scowled and asked, “What do you want?”

Jenny thought he was an idiot; she wanted a cab of course. “Do you work for Mr Parker?” she asked instead. The cabby nodded.

“Right. Need to get to the City Police station near the Bank of England, please. Need to deliver a message for my mistress. It’s mighty urgent.” 

But the young cabby just sneered at her and gave a mean laugh, and turned back to his friends, saying “Get along with you; we’re waitin’ fer important people; not a some guttersnipe who thinks she’s a maid.” The man and his friends kept laughing, while Jenny stood there, trying to decide whether to argue, or if it would be faster to just run to the Police Station on foot. But only a moment later, she heard a deep voice nearby ask, “Who are you?”

Jenny turned, and found a tall, thin older man, also a cabby, looking up from checking the leather bits around his horse. He flicked his eyes over Jenny, looking at her closely, and quietly asked again, “Who are you, young woman? What is your name?”

“Flint, sir, Jenny Flint. I’m Madame Vastra’s maid.” Jenny bobbed a little curtsey for good luck. The cabby looked old enough to be her grand-da, if she’d ever had one.

The older man nodded once. “Get in,” was all he said, as he swung himself up to the driver’s seat at the back of the cab. Jenny scrambled in, and then she noticed that all the younger cabbies had stopped laughing. As the cab pulled away from the stand, she realized that the one who’d refused to take her fare suddenly looked awfully pale. 

The cab didn’t go very far; within minutes it pulled up outside a bustling yard where men were busily moving to and fro, attaching horses to cabs and polishing trim on carriages. Jenny started to stand up, but the trapdoor in roof of the cab snapped open. “Steady there, miss!,” called the cabby. “Won’t be a moment.”

“This isn’t the police station!” Jenny shouted back angrily, ready to bolt for freedom.

“Steady!” The man repeated, and then he looked up, took a breath, and called out in a commanding voice, “Parker! There’s a youngster here has a message for the Police. Thought you’d want to see her as we passed by. Says her name’s Flint!”

Jenny blinked, and looking out of the cab, saw a sign by the gate: “Parker Carriage Company: Horses, Cabs and Carriages for Hire.” Just inside the gate, two men carrying long cases looked over at the cab.

One was Sergeant Parker, and Jenny was delighted to see him, even with the delay. The other… Jenny blinked in surprise. The other was Private Taylor.

“Jenny?” Parker called, jogging over to the cab. “Taylor and I are just heading out to practice. What’s this about?” 

“Can I tell you as we go?” asked Jenny. “Madame will be awfully cross if I don’t get this message to the City Police right smart.”

Parker climbed into the seat beside Jenny, and ordered the cabby to the City Police station. As the cab started to move, Taylor dove in as well, sprawling in the narrow footrest. He hauled himself up and squeezed onto the seat on Jenny’s other side.

“Taylor, what the blazes are you doing?” asked Parker.

“Miss out on an adventure with Jenny?” Taylor drawled, “You’re joking, right?”

***

Once they were finally over Westminster Bridge, Vastra and Abernathy’s cab turned onto King Street. Vastra looked up and down the streets as they drove along. Here she could see a light but steady stream of Apes, many with the unsightly glut of facial hair that the males of the place and time favoured as fashionable. She tried to see them as she and Jenny had discussed: What were they wearing? Many wore clothes with no holes or patches; so richer men than most found in either Cheapside or near Jenny’s old home. Even the young boot black shining shoes on the corner seemed to be a little more neatly dressed than many Vastra had seen. Very few of these Apes were dressed as workmen; surely Keegan or Corcoran would be noticeable among these well-dressed apes. 

Their first stop was at the Police station near Whitehall. Vastra paid off the cab while Inspector Abernathy sent a police runner up to Scotland Yard, at the other end of Whitehall, for more reinforcements. Then he and Madame Vastra crossed the street with an escort of several police constables, and found the south entrance into the huge complex of buildings that housed the India Office, the Colonial Office and the Foreign Office. Everything there seemed quiet, so Abernathy left two constables on guard. Vastra was surprised to learn that the government offices didn’t open until 8:00 AM, almost two hours away. 

They crossed the courtyard and exited through the north gate to Downing Street. Abernathy asked Vastra to wait, and went to speak with a police constable standing by a townhouse door marked ‘10’. 

“That’s the Prime Minister’s Residence,” explained another policeman when she asked what the constable was guarding. As they waited, several fast-moving carriages turned onto Downing Street. They stopped across the street from the guarded door. 

“Madame Vastra?” came a voice from one of the carriages. A salt and pepper head with a neatly trimmed moustache popped out of the window. “What are you doing here?”

Vastra felt rather at a loss. The Ape obviously recognized her, but she wasn’t certain who this was… She watched as several humans stepped down from the carriages and crossed the street. One of them approached her. His face was lined and his hair was mostly dark with some grey, but his moustache was more grey than dark. He wore a wedge cap, a green jacket, and trousers with stripes going both up and down and sideways. Vastra quickly realized she did indeed know this Ape; it was Colonel Lethbridge. 

Inspector Abernathy returned just then, and the two men quickly introduced themselves. The Colonel nodded at the other men. “We are just about to meet with the Prime Minister about your message from yesterday, Madame,” explained the Colonel. “Mr Thackeray at the Bank was able to get a copy to me.” 

“That is why we are here,” explained Vastra. “I believe that an attack may be imminent.”

Lethbridge frowned, and turned to Abernathy, who quickly filled him in on their findings in Wimbledon.

“Then we’d best get about finding these men,” said the Colonel.

“The bomb will likely be fairly large,” said Abernathy, motioning the policemen to gather around as well. “The one in Liverpool needed two men to carry it.”

From the corner of her eye, Vastra noticed that the other two very-well dressed Apes were standing together by the carriages, out of the way but definitely paying attention.

“How’ll they to carry it?” asked one of the police. There was a buzz of speculation from the others: a bomb in a wheelbarrow? A bomb in a cask of ale? A bomb in...

“Damn you Abernathy!” came a hoarse shout. “What are you doing interfering with my case?” 

“NOW he shows up,” muttered Madame Vastra.

Inspector Peaslin ran up, snarling at Abernathy and completely ignoring Madame Vastra and the other interested watchers. Abernathy tried to explain their new information, but Peaslin kept cutting him off and calling him a fool.

“I see only one fool here,” said a quiet but firm new voice, “and it’s the man who thinks he knows everything, while demonstrating very clearly that he knows nothing.” 

Inspector Peaslin started to bluster, “Who are you to speak to me like…” he trailed off, as one of the well-dressed man stepped forward, eyeing Peaslin as if he’d seen something better kept out of sight. 

“Inspector Peaslin, surely you recognise the Sir William Vernon Harcourt, the Home Secretary?” asked Colonel Lethbridge dryly. “The head of your Criminal Investigation Department has direct contact with him. And you should recognize the Foreign Secretary as well.”

“Sir, surely you don’t believe these wild stories?” Peaslin blustered to the Home Secretary. “The only witnesses are a veiled woman and a broken-down soldier…”

“Quiet,” admonished the Home Secretary, and Peaslin snapped his mouth shut with a click. 

Vastra was fascinated by the newcomer’s whiskers. Unlike many apes, this one’s ran down one side of his face, grew very thick under his chin, and up the other side of his face, but did not grow on the man’s chin or under his nose. Most peculiar!

The Home Secretary looked at over at them. “You secured the Foreign Office, Inspector ... ?”

“Abernathy, Sir . Yes sir.”

“Very good. Have your men continue on and secure the area. And you… Peaslin, was it? Go and check the Home Office. Now!”

Peaslin started to object, but stopped short, and with a curt nod, trotted off. But he couldn’t resist a parting shot: “Stay out of my way, Abernathy!”

***

While Jenny explained what Madame Vastra discovered in Wimbledon to the two Green Jackets, they headed east along St Paul’s Churchyard to Cheapside. Soon they passed The Gin Palace and then turned north to the station. 

Jenny had been here before: the two thugs who’d given Mr Thackeray, Madame Vastra and Jenny so much grief during the Masked Lady adventures had almost begged Jenny to take them there at the end. They knew they were safer in jail then facing any remaining Black Scorpions, who’d decided that the thugs were the ones robbing their banks and were hell-bent on revenge. 

They pulled up at the front door, and Jenny called up to the driver, “How much I owe you?”

“A shilling for you and Parker,” said the cabby, then added with a slight smile; “and three pence for Mr Taylor.”

“Hey, I’m not a kid!” grumbled Taylor, while Jenny laughed and passed the money up through the trapdoor in the roof.

As they scrambled onto the pavement the cabby called out. “Don’t recommend you take the long arms with you, Parker. Police won’t thank you for it!” 

“Right you are, Mr. Thompson,” said Parker, stowing the cases back in the cab. 

“How come that driver gets to call you Parker, instead of talking to you proper?” asked Jenny, as they entered the police station.

“When I was in the army, he was my Regimental Sergeant Major,” said Mr Parker. 

Taylor saw Jenny’s confused look. “He was senior to Parker in the army. So he gets some perks, see?”

Parker nodded. “He retired just after I did, and he was one of the first drivers I hired for my company. He’s been with me ever since. Helps keep the young ‘uns in line.” Jenny nodded and grinned. She guessed that a certain mouthy young cabby was going to catch it when he finished his shift.

They hurried into the police station. And ran into a problem.

“Constable Palmer is out walking his beat,” was the Sergeant’s reply when Jenny asked after him. She looked surprised, then thanked Mr Thompson under her breath. Jenny knew full well that if she’d arrived alone, she most like would have been hanging about forever before sergeant listened to her or the superintendent bothered to see her. But with Mr Parker and Mr Taylor beside her, both looking focused and stern, the sergeant on duty quickly fetched the senior officer. 

Jenny gave her message to the Superintendent and listened to him discuss the situation with the Sergeant and Mr Parker. Constable Palmer would be out for another three quarters of an hour according to the Sergeant. Jenny knew most of his route, either from seeing him on it over the last few months, or from needing to stay out of his sight from time to time. So while the men chattered away, she slipped out of the station and went to find him. She was pretty sure he’d be over on Old Broad Street about now, heading towards Threadneedle. With luck, she’d meet up with him near the Stock Exchange. Right beside the Bank of England.

***

“Madame, where’s your maid?” asked Lethbridge, looking around for Jenny despite himself. Really, a young maid should be completely beneath his notice, but from what Parker and Taylor had told him, where Madame Vastra was, Jenny was usually close by, acting as a tiny guide. Or perhaps a tiny guard. A respectable woman should have her maid nearby at this time of the morning.

“There is a possibility that the Bank of England may also be attacked. Jenny is carrying a warning to the local police station to be on the lookout,” said Madame Vastra. 

Colonel Lethbridge blinked in surprise. Well, it was a good reason for the maid’s absence, but still...

“The telegraph wires from Wimbledon were down, even up to Waterloo Station,” explained Inspector Abernathy. “Jenny knows the area and the men involved, she volunteered to go to the City Police Station near the Bank.”

Lethbridge looked at the widow in disbelief. “I hope you told her to STAY at the station?”

“Why?” asked Madame Vastra. “Jenny has a talent for being where she can be most useful.” 

“The girl has a talent for getting into mischief, you mean,” teased Abernathy.

Vastra nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," she said. 

Lethbridge almost threw his hands in the air. “If there’s a bomb in the bank, it could be very deadly mischief.” 

The Colonel was pleased to see the woman at least hesitate for a moment, glancing in the direction of the far off Bank, but was quietly dismayed when she shook her head.

“There’s nothing to be done now,” she declared. “Jenny is a clever aa... girl. She will do what she needs to do.” 

But there was a tone of worry in her voice that the Colonel couldn’t help but hear.

***

When Jenny arrived at the front of the bank, the night guard was forming up to march back to the Tower of London. It was a wonderful sight. There must have been at least thirty of them, all looking very smart in their red tunics and tall bearskin hats. Their rifles gleamed in the early morning light. Jenny remembered from their visit to the bank that that Mr Thackeray said the Guard stayed at the bank from six in the evening until six in the morning. The Guard officer was chatting with a man in a suit. Jenny saw that it was Mr Bradshaw, Mr Thackeray’s new assistant.

Jenny stopped a moment, wondering if she should interrupt them and ask the Guard officer to keep his men at the bank. But she thought she’d better find the constable instead. The men likely wouldn’t listen to her. 

Jenny kept going along Threadneedle Street, heading past the Stock Exchange. She stood on the corner, and looked up Old Broad Street to her left and along Threadneedle Street towards the east end on her right. There was no sign of Constable Palmer. She checked behind her, and the Guard was still standing around out front of the bank. She saw Parker and Taylor arrive, and Mr Parker went straight to Mr Bradshaw, and started talking to him. While the men argued. Jenny snorted quietly to herself. Most likely they thought they were calmly ‘discussing the situation,’ or some such rot. 

Jenny trotted back to the bank, and as she arrived, she saw Mr Thackeray emerge from the street beside the Mansion House. Jenny was awfully glad to see him. Both Mr Bradshaw and Sergeant Parker recognized him, and hurried to bring him up to date.

Jenny waited, listening to the Bells of St Mary Le Bow’s strike the half hour while the men talked. She started to grow impatient with all the nattering after all the excitement of getting to London and delivering Madame Vastra’s message. She caught the eye of the Guards’ drummer, a lanky lad of about sixteen, who rolled his eyes at the officer, the Green Jackets and Mr Abernathy, then shrugged and with a grin mouthed, “You’ll get use to it.” Jenny nodded back. “Hurry up and wait” she muttered. Da said that happened a fair bit, even on the docks.

Jenny walked back towards Princes Street, on the side of the Bank closest to the Police Station, just to see if Constable Palmer might have gone along another street past the bank. About half-way up the street was the massive door she’d snuck out of to avoid McPhillips and son the day she’d first met Constable Palmer. As she watched, a little pony cart came down the street and stopped by the entrance. The driver dropped a horse anchor, and then the wiry man picked up a large basket of carrots and started towards the door. 

Jenny went over to Mr Thackeray, and dragged him half-protesting over to the street corner. The other men followed half annoyed and half amused. “What’s that fellow doin’ delivering vegetables?” asked Jenny. “Didn’t see no eating place in there on our visit.” 

The man reappeared, and he hauled a big lumpy burlap bag out of the cart, balanced it on his back, and took it into the bank. 

“Oh, he’s just delivering supplies for the officer’s dinner,” Mr Bradshaw reassured her. “Those are potatoes, I’d guess.”

“Dinner?” 

Mr Thackeray nodded. “The officer of the Guards is allowed a dinner each night he’s on duty and may invite one or two guests…” 

“Jenny, I’m not sure…” started Parker. Just then the carter returned from the doorway, hauled another sack out of the cart, and went back inside. 

“Two sacks?” said Jenny. “That’s an awful lot of potatoes.”

“Never mind the blasted vegetables,” said the lieutenant of the Guard.

“No, she’s right,” said Private Taylor. “Two sacks? That’s enough to feed a company or two...”

All the other men stared at the American.

“Had to peel enough of them in the war, now didn’t I?” explained Taylor. “When we were lucky enough to get ‘em. Won’t hurt to at least go and make sure.”

“The guard at the door would check the bag…”

“Sure, he’d check the first one to make sure it was potatoes, but would he check both bags?” Taylor asked shrewdly. 

Mr Thackeray looked surprised, and then turned and started quickly towards the cart. “Better safe than sorry.” Taylor was right behind him, and Jenny followed close on their heels. 

As they went, they heard shouted some shouted commands, and then the drummer started up, followed by the sound of marching feet. Heading away from the Bank. 

It was long past six in the morning, Jenny realized. Of course the Guard was leaving!

“Jenny stay back!” called Thackeray as he ran through the massive cast iron door. “This might be dangerous!”

“Save your breath ‘sir’,” muttered Private Taylor, “or better yet; take your own advice!”

***

As the Colonel returned to the pavement and the men started into the Prime Minister’s residence, one or two more carriages arrived, and several more humans entered the buildings nearby. Most of the carriages left again, but one pulled to the end of the street, swung around, and drew up near the entrance to the Prime Minister’s residence. The driver swung down, dropped a horse anchor to the ground and started checking the hooves of the carriage horse, all the while muttering angrily under his breath.

Just then, a battered old cart turned into Downing Street, and rumbled to a stop. Inspector Abernathy glanced up. “Street sweepers,” he said, as two men stepped down, one with a broom, the other with a shovel. They started to sweep up the dried manure and dirt in the street, and shovel the results into the cart. 

“There isn’t much for them to do,” said Vastra. “The street seems remarkably clean…”

“As if it had been recently swept?” Abernathy observed. “Right. I think I’ll go have a word with those two…” he finished, motioning a pair of constables to come with him. They started towards the dust cart.

Vastra remained behind, watching the street.

***

Thackeray, Taylor and Jenny pounded up into the bank. Thackeray waved at the startled guard at the door and called “Watch for the police! They should be here any time!” He ran further into the bank, towards the Guard Officer’s room. It was empty, but in the open courtyard outside the room, deep within the bank, he spotted the carter kneeling beside a lumpy bag in the far corner. “You there,” called Mr Thackeray, “Stop!”

The carter looked up, closing the bag as he stood. “What’s up, boyo...ah, Mister?”

Thackeray continued towards him, with Taylor right behind. Jenny stopped in surprise, recognizing the man’s voice.

“That’s Keegan!” Jenny shouted to Mr Thackeray, “He’s one of the bombers!”

***

As Vastra waited in the shadow of the Foreign Office Building, she heard “What’s this then?” and turned to see one of the policemen speaking to the driver of the carriage parked nearby. 

“Carriage for Major Shaw. He’s visitin’ the India Office. Horse has come up lame though.” The driver was half-inside the carriage, working on something, but leaned back out and closed the door, locking it, and then walked up beside the horse. 

“Visiting?” echoed the policeman. “Bit early for that isn’t it? Most of that lot won’t be here for hours yet.” 

“All the better for me, need to get this horse switched out.” He started to unbuckle the bits of leather that held the horse to the carriage. “Shouldn’t take long. Twenty minutes tops. The Major’s townhouse is nearby.”

Madame Vastra listened closely to the driver. Did he sound like any of the men she’d heard two weeks ago? She wasn’t sure. She looked over to where Abernathy was speaking to the street sweepers, then looked back, peering at the driver again. She really needed to learn to tell humans apart! 

The driver looked a little familiar. No beard. Dark hair. But it was hard for Vastra to be certain. Perhaps… What was the name of the men she was looking for? Eileen had mentioned one of them...

“Frank... “ she spoke uncertainly, “Frank Corcoran, is that you?”

The man looked up, startled. “Who’s calling me…?” He glanced over, looking Vastra right in the eye.

In that moment Vastra recognized the workman from Rifle Matches, the one who’d come into the tent to fetch tools while the Green Jackets were meeting.

“You!” both of them exclaimed in the same instant.

***

Keegan’s face twisted into a sneer as he plunged his hand into the pocket of his vest, and pulled out a revolver. He waved it back and forth between Taylor and Thackeray with angry menace. “You stop right there!” said Keegan.

“Look out!” called Mr Thackeray. “He has a gun!” 

Taylor just rolled his eyes. “No, really?” At least the man wasn’t inclined to shoot from the hip! 

“You two gents keep well back. I’m going to do you a grand favour and walk all of us right out of here, nice and quick and quiet. You’ll thank me for that, you will. Think we’ll be leavin’ the ‘taters though. Let the Governor get a taste of them, hey?”

Thackeray stiffened, suddenly realizing that if there was indeed a bomb in the sacks in front of him, it was right outside the office of the Governor of the Bank of England. And right under a window. When the bomb went off, anyone inside that room, or any other office with a window on the courtyard, would be sliced to bits by the flying glass! 

Jenny saw both of the men hesitate, likely looking for a chance to tackle Keegan. But he wasn’t giving them any chance to catch him napping. 

Her eyes glued to the deadly scene in front of her, Jenny almost missed the silent arrivals beside her. It was the quiet command, “Load!” that caught her attention.

Half-hidden in the shadows of the officer’s room, were four guardsman and their officer! They must have sent the others off as a trick! Jenny watched them quietly ready their rifles with deadly skill. She looked back towards the men in the courtyard. And then saw that Mr Thackeray and Private Taylor were in a bad spot. They were right between Keegan and the Guardsmen. If the Guard tried to shoot Keegan, they might be hurt as well! 

Jenny glanced back at the guardsmen. “Ready,” whispered the officer. The Guardsmen lifted their rifles and seated them against their shoulders. Jenny couldn’t tell them to stop. If there was a bomb in that sack, then the whole Bank was in danger!

But she had to help Mr Thackeray. And Mr Taylor too!

Jenny licked her lips nervously. She couldn’t shout; she’d warn Keegan too. She needed some sort of signal... 

And suddenly, three sharp, falling notes hit the tense air, followed by three more.

Keegan looked up at the whistling sound, confused and trying to see what was happening. Abernathy started toward him, but a split second later he was tackled to the ground. Private Taylor recognized “Lie Down!” with an instinct for survival born in countless battles, just as Jenny hoped he would. Even if it was being whistled by a young Cockney girl in the middle of London! 

“Aim,” came the Guards Officer’s clear command. 

And Keegan found himself staring down the muzzles of four unwavering rifles, topped by four cold-eyed men. All quite intent on killing him if he so much as twitched.

***

Frank Corcoran stood stunned for an instant, staring at the tall veiled woman in front of him. How the bloody devil was the nosy widow here! No wonder there were police crawling all over the street! He shoved the policeman beside him to the ground. The woman lunged at the him, but he was just a bit too far away for her to catch. 

Corcoran took to his heels, running away from the street, towards St James’ Park nearby. Behind him he heard the woman shout, “That’s the Bomber. Stop him!” He only needed a few minutes to get out of range! The widow wouldn’t be able to catch him; her skirts would slow her down. Pity about the horse...

Corcoran made it ten steps before a strong hand seized the back of his jacket. He managed to slip out of it before the widow got a good grip on him. Behind them, he could hear shouting. He was too close! He wiggled free, but this time the woman grabbed his arm, swung him around, and to his shock, she bodily picked him up and threw him down on the ground as a thin balding man wearing a suit ran up, followed by more police. “Inspector Abernathy, arrest that man!” The command in the woman’s was unmistakable.

“Let me go, I done nothing wrong,” Corcoran protested. “This mad-woman’s followed me from Wimbledon. She’s been asking daft questions all over the town!”

“You work for the railroad,” said Vastra. “Why are you here driving a carriage.” 

“That’s not a crime and it’s none of your business,” snarled Corcoran.

“Take him to the police station, and we’ll sort him out shortly,” said Abernathy. The constables started to lead Corcoran towards the main street, past the carriage. As they passed, the horse whinnied and stamped its hooves. Some small sparks few. Vastra saw Corcoran shy away from the horse.

“Wait,” she said. “Something’s not right.”

“Get me away from that woman!” snarled Corcoran.

“You drove that horse and carriage here. Why here? And you were handling the horse easily a few minutes ago. Why are you suddenly afraid of it?”

“I’m no scared of a horse, you fool woman!”

“Yes, you are.” Vastra approached closer, eyeing the man as she would any prey. 

“Get me away from here,” screamed Corcoran, trying to pull away from the constables that held him.

Vastra grabbed his shirt, and hauled him close, and hissed, “You’re staying right here until you answer my questions.”

Vastra sniffed the air, trying to catch any hint of the explosives but her veil blocked all scents except the smell of whiskey and smoke from the Ape in front of her. She grabbed one of his hands, and jerked it to her face. Sweat and horse and leather… and 

“Fear,” said Madame Vastra. “You stink of fear. Why?”

Abernathy sniffed the air, but shook his head. “Can’t say I smell any fear, Madame, or any gunpowder.” When he saw the widow looking at him with her head cocked he reminded her, “The Liverpool bomb was gunpowder…”

“I don’t smell any gunpowder on him,” interrupted Vastra. “But he is terrified by something… perhaps by the possibility of being killed.” she stared at the trembling Corcoran, who looked ready to have an embarrassing accident. “So the bomb is almost certainly nearby. Most likely…,” She swung around, staring behind her. “...In that carriage!”

***

“Don’t shoot,” yelled Keegan, dropping his pistol. “I’m not dying a bloody Martyr!”

The Guardsmen stepped carefully into the courtyard, acting in pairs with one man covering Keegan while his partner moved. In the meantime, Taylor rolled off of Mr Thackeray, got to his feet, then leaned down and gave Thackeray a hand up.

“Sir, I believe I owe you my life,” Mr Thackeray said stiffly to Taylor.

Taylor grinned. “Sir, I reckon we both owe our lives to Miss Jenny. That tune she whistled is what saved us both. It’s an old US Army bugle call, you see. I just.. well.. reacted I guess.”

Thackeray smiled, and Taylor was amused to see the man visibly relax. “That’s no surprise. I should be getting use to this,” Thackeray said, “That’s the second time Jenny’s charged in and helped save my biscuit.”

Behind Jenny, there was a commotion as new arrivals pelted into courtyard beside the Guardsmen. The City Police had finally arrived, led by Constable Palmer, and followed by Mr Parker.

“Took you lot long enough to run around the corner,” groused Jenny. “I must have given them that message more than a quarter hour ago!” she said to Constable Palmer.

The police took charge of Keegan. Thackeray and Taylor briefly filled in the police and the guardsmen on what they’d found. The police superintendent glanced over at the sacks lying against the wall. “Well done, lads! There’s no smoke, so he didn’t have a chance to lite the fuse. The bomb won’t go off, no cause for alarm...”

There was a still moment as they all glanced at the bags.

It was so quiet, Jenny could hear the ticking of a clock. She looked around, wondering what time it was and if Madame Vastra was all right.

“Ah well, boyos,” Keegan interrupted the moment, “You caught me fair and square. Time to haul me away…”

“What’s your rush?” grumbled a constable. “Just you pipe down for a minute.”

“Well now, if you want to know the truth, all this excitement..” and suddenly Keegan broke away, running out of the courtyard. The police superintendent and two constables ran after him, and Jenny could see them catch him in the Guard Officer’s room. They quickly bundled him away.

But at the last moment, he turned back. And Jenny saw he was grinning. As if in spite of being caught, he’d somehow won. Jenny shivered. She didn’t like it.

She turned back to listen to the men.

Sergeant Parker shook his head. “There are more ways to trigger explosives than just lighting a fuse.”

Jenny frowned. Trigger. Alarm. Why did that sound familiar... “Oh no!” She dug into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out her notebook. “There was a picture of something with a trigger and gears in Keegan and Corcoran's room in Wimbledon. They tried to burn it, but Madame Vastra found it in the stove.” She showed the men the sketch she’d drawn.

Constable Palmer took a deep breath. “My God. I’ve read about those…”

Private Taylor looked grim. “I saw one, a few years ago. Or what was left of one, rather. I might be able to dismantle this…”

Constable Palmer shook his head. “No sir, I can’t let you do that.”

Taylor looked at him, stiff and on guard “Why the devil not? If that thing goes off it will take out half this bank!”

At that, Mr Thackeray stepped up to the Guard officer, waving at the windows lining the courtyard. “We need to make sure those offices are cleared immediately. Then get your men out of the building!” The Guard officer gave a quick salute, and sent his men off to search the adjacent rooms. 

Palmer took a deep breath. “Yes sir,” he said, “But this is my city, sir. And my beat. So it’s my job.”

Taylor scowled at him a long moment, and then gave in. “So it is. But let me at least tell you what I know.” 

Constable Palmer nodded, and then turned and in a surprisingly gentle voice asked “Jenny, I need to borrow your sketch for a while. Is that alright?”

Jenny nodded, looking scared and trying very hard not to show it. She’d put her friends in a dangerous place, she just knew it! And what about Madame Vastra? Was she in danger too with only Abernathy to help her out?

‘Dear Lord,’ thought Thackeray, seeing Jenny’s reaction. ‘she’s barely thirteen! What’s she doing caught up in this mess!’ 

Suddenly Mr Parker chimed in, “Come on Jenny, we have work to do.”

Jenny blinked in surprise and echoed, “Work?”

Parker nodded crisply. “You live near here, right? Where’s the local fire brigade? We need to go and get them, just in case.”

Jenny’s eyes grew wide, and then she nodded rapidly. “They’re not far away. Come on!” she called, quickly heading for the door. Parker smiled grimly and followed the girl out.

“Oh, that was very clever, that was,” said Palmer with real appreciation in his voice. “Wasn’t sure how to get her out safely short of carrying her.”

Taylor also looked impressed. “Mr. Parker thinks on his feet, don’t he? No wonder he made Sergeant!”

Jenny didn’t hear them. All of a sudden she knew why she’d seen Keegan smiling. He knew he was safely away from the bomb.

And that her friends were not.

***  
Madame Vastra and Inspector Abernathy warily approached the carriage. The horse was still attached to to it by a few buckles, and it became restless as the strangers neared, causing the carriage to move and sway. 

Inspector Abernathy glanced over at her, clearly worried. “Madame Vastra,” he said, “You should leave. This is my responsibility. Think of your family...”

“My family is dead, Inspector,” said Vastra bluntly. “I am all that remains.” ‘And I’m trained in both the manufacture and demolition of explosives’ she thought to herself, ‘and I suspect that you are not.’ She winced as Abernathy pulled on the carriage door, and then rattled it, trying to spring it open.

Vastra held her breath as a constable grabbed the horse’s… bridle, that was the word, thought Vastra, and another quickly released the buckles and they led the horse away. 

“Jenny would miss you,” said Abernathy still trying to convince her to leave as the police removed the horse. “She likes you. You’re a good mistress to her, I think.” 

“Jenny has known me less than six months, Inspector, and she is still very young. If I die here, most likely in six months more she will have forgotten me again.” Even as she said the words, Vastra knew she wasn’t being fair to Jenny. The girl had remembered Vastra as the woman with pretty eyes who’d helped save her life five years earlier, after only minutes of knowing her. 

Jenny would remember her no matter what happened. She was almost sure of it.

Vastra shook herself. She could not afford such distractions now. She moved quickly but carefully, testing the carriage door for herself. Locked. Corcoran had the key, of course. She started to turn back. But as she now Vastra could hear a very faint ticking. She stepped away from the carriage, and it disappeared. She stepped back and heard the steady ticking again. What was that? It was definitely inside the carriage.

“We need to open this door.” Vastra stalked over to Corcoran asking, “Where’s is the key?” 

“Go to he…” 

Vastra reached him, grabbed his shirt and lifted him a foot off the ground. 

“Front right trouser pocket,” Corcoran whimpered. Vastra didn’t hesitate, she snatched the top of the pocket and ripped it half off. The key fell out, and she dropped Corcoran and retrieved it.

“Was it good for you too, darling?” Corcoran sneered, trying to pretend he’d never been afraid. 

Vastra didn’t bother to look at him as she backhanded his head with the fist clenching the key. She stalked back to the carriage, slid the key into the lock, turned it and flung open the door.

Abernathy and Vastra stared inside. Abernathy scowled “Bits of rags? Why does he have so many little bits of rags? Where’s the bomb?” Inside the carriage were piled mounds of shredded cloth. 

Vastra looked closely and saw that mixed in with the cloth were nails and bent bits of metal and small jagged bits of gravel from the roads. She immediately turned and shouted. “Clear everyone get out of here right now!” She turned to the two bewildered constables holding Corcoran. “Secure him here and then leave. He stays!” 

Abernathy looked at her in confusion. “But where’s the bomb?”

“The entire carriage is the bomb,” Madame Vastra said grimly.

***

Sitting in the middle of the carriage, half buried among the shredded fabric was an old fashioned flintlock pistol. Beside it was a collection of gears and metal pieces, with a clock face on it. The time showed just a minute before 12 o’clock. A thin wire connected the two. Vastra studied it for a long moment, and then with a sick sense of dread, realized what it was.

“That clock’s not right!” said Abernathy, “It must be almost six thirty…”

“That’s not a clock, Inspector. That’s the detonator.” Vastra looked over at him. “Remember the sketch we found in the stove? It was a design for that. And the clock’s about to strike twelve, and blow us to whatever comes next.” 

Abernathy gulped.

Vastra thought quickly, considering whether to just drag the vehicle into either the Thames or the nearby pond. She studied the device again. No, they were almost out of time. 

“I believe can disarm this,” she said. But her voice, while strong, didn’t sound completely confident.

Abernathy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Just as he wasn’t sure about Vastra trying to disarm the bomb.

If this was a novel, Abernathy was sure that as the hero he should be the one tackling the detonator. Except that he had no idea how to disarm it, and there was no time for Vastra to tell him. Perhaps he should make a romantic gesture, and take the mysterious widow in his arms, and kiss her deeply for good luck. 

He glanced back at Corcoran, who lay shackled in the road, blood running down his face from a cut where Vastra had struck him, pocket and half the front of his trousers torn and gaping open; his family jewels, such as they were, exposed for all the world to see.

On the other hand, perhaps not. 

“Are you insane? No woman can disarm that device!” screamed Corcoran. “Let me go,It’s going to blow and kill us all!”

“Shut up,” was all Vastra said, as she climbed gingerly into the carriage, drawing her cutlass as she did so. She wished Jenny was here, despite the danger, as one of the girl’s knives, even that that ridiculously large blade she always carried, would be much easier to work with in the close quarters of the carriage. 

Vastra looked over the pistol once last time. There was no trigger guard, and the curved part of the stock was cut away, so there was no way to jam the trigger. A thin wire ran from the trigger to the part of the clock that rang the alarm. When time the alarm was set for was reached, the clapper would move to ring the bell, pulling the wire, and the trigger.

And the bomb would explode. 

Vastra slipped her cutlass beneath the wire, edge towards the sky, said a quick prayer to her goddess, and pulled her sword towards her and up towards the top of the carriage.

At that moment, the clock struck twelve.

***

It took Jenny and Mr Parker longer than Jenny liked to roust out the Fire Brigade and return with them to the bank. 

They had trouble getting close at first; the police were happy to let the Fire Brigade in but were reluctant to admit Parker and Jenny. Jenny was considering all the sneaky routes she knew in the area, and which one would work best, when Mr Bradshaw spotted them and brought them inside the police line.

The fire brigade were already setting up their pumps, and running their hoses in through the bank’s Prince’s street gate, and there was an awful lot of shouting going on. Jenny was suddenly worried; they’d not heard loud bangs or booms or however a bomb sounded. Was there an explosion? A fire? Was Constable Palmer alright?

Jenny suddenly stopped, wanting desperately to go back to Threadneedle Street and look west. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t hope to see Whitehall. She was suddenly just real worried. Was there another bomb?

Jenny felt sick. She had no way of knowing if Madame Vastra was safe. 

They found Mr Abernathy, Taylor and to Jenny’s surprise Mr Dawes, huddled closely together. 

Jenny was now getting really scared. “Where’s Constable Palmer…” she called. “Did the bomb go off? What’s the fire brigade doing?”

“Jenny, it’s all right.. The fire brigade is just making everything is safe,” said Mr Abernathy. “Constable Palmer’s fine. See here he is.”

And sure enough, the adults moved aside and to Jenny’s relief, there sat the man himself, clutching a steaming mug of tea. 

He’d done it, Jenny realised. Constable Palmer had disarmed the bomb.

Palmer took a sip from the steaming mug. His hand was unsteady. Jenny realized that he was still shaking. It must have been awful close. 

She glanced back towards Whitehall. “Please be safe,” she whispered.

***

Inspector Abernathy watched Madame Vastra dismount from the carriage, the severed wire and the pistol lock in her hand. To say that Inspector Abernathy was relieved was an understatement of epic proportions. He watched as she carefully removed the flint from the pistol, and dumped the primer well away from the carriage. 

“Thank God that’s over,” said Abernathy.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” said Madame Vastra, “We still have a problem. This entire carriage is stuffed with gun cotton. The slightest spark will blow it up.” 

“Spark?”

Madame Vastra nodded at a nearby gaslight, not yet extinguished for the day. “And every horse and cart and carriage in this city is shod with iron, Mr Parker told me, both hoof and tire. That’s why Corcoran flinched earlier. The horse was striking sparks when it pawed the ground.”

Abernathy went pale. 

“Corcoran and Keegan must have brought the guncotton up wet from Wimbledon so it stayed stable, and then spread it out and let it dried it overnight,” continued Vastra. “With the recent heat they knew it would dry very quickly. In order to make it safe again, we need water to soak the cloth. Now, before some fool decides to light his pipe nearby.”

They solved the problem with a bucket line. It was Abernathy’s idea to use buckets; neither of them wanted to risk moving the carriage yet. He went around to the rear of the Prime Minister’s residence looking for some buckets and found several constables, the men they were guarding and the servants all safely out of the house. Abernathy asked the civilians to wait while the police dealt with the carriage, but the housekeeper merely shrugged, and said “Many hands make light work,” and soon two young bootblacks stood in St James Pond, scooping up buckets of water and handing them to the maids, who passed them up the line. Even Colonel Lethbridge and the Prime Minister and his guests joined in. To Vastra’s amusement, with the immediate danger past, there was some jockeying amongst the older men about who would bravely stand closest to the carriage while passing along the buckets. No doubt some sort of dominance display, she guessed. Abernathy and Vastra were in the carriage itself, to Colonel Lethbridge’s dismay. Abernathy was there to dump the buckets, and Vastra to stir things around with a broom handle so as not to raise a spark, and to make sure everything was thoroughly soaked. 

They were almost finished when there was a loud shout of, “Abernathy what the Hell is going on!” Vastra looked up with a hiss, recognizing Inspector Peaslin’s voice. 

“Oh god, he’s back!” muttered Abernathy.

They stepped down from the carriage. Inspector Peaslin arrived, followed by a constable who was reluctantly dragging along a workman. “I’ve arrested the bomber; no thanks to you!” Peaslin declared with a sneer.

Vastra looked at the prisoner, but aside from the liberal smattering of black dust on the man’s clothes, she could see nothing remarkable about him. She certainly didn’t recognize him. Even Corcoran, now standing again with a policeman guarding him, looked puzzled.

However, the Prime Minister glanced over, shook his head, and walked down the bucket line, returning a few seconds later with a tall, thin yet imposing older Ape. 

“What do you mean you captured the bomber?” asked Colonel Lethbridge. “What makes you think this man is involved?”

“It’s so very obvious! I caught him about to turn onto Downing Street with a cart. No doubt stolen as a ruse! It’s the middle of summer, and yet this man claims to be delivering…”

“If I may, sir…” The tall Silverback surveyed the Peaslin with a disdainful air and then approached his captive and waved off the constable. “I apologize for the trouble, Mr Jones, but the household had a minor disturbance this morning, and is slightly out of sorts. Is your cart nearby?”

The workman nodded quickly. “Just around the corner. One of the boys is holding ‘er fer me.”

“Then please bring it around to the rear as soon as possible, as the coal hole here is currently unavailable. We have several large dinners coming up, and the fuel for the kitchen is running low.”

“Yes, Mister Stirling. Right away.”

Peaslin interrupted, “Who the devil are you? How dare you interfere with a police investigation!” 

The august individual turned and eyed Peaslin again. Vastra was reminded of one of her people contemplating something to eat, who was just about to reject it as altogether unedible.

“I,” said the tall thin silverback, “Am the Prime Minister’s Butler. Congratulations, ‘Inspector,’ you captured our coalman. Who is, by the way, Welsh, not Irish.”

Peaslin started to bluster, and then looked around, suddenly realizing that there were a great number of people looking at him, and a great deal of water dripping out of the nearby carriage.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. “Something happened, didn’t it? Dammit Abernathy, I told you not to interfere...”

“An excellent observation, Constable,” said the Home Secretary in an exasperated voice. “If a trifle late.” 

“It’s ‘Inspector’ actually, Sir Harcourt…” said Peaslin.

“From what Colonel Lethbridge has told us about your stonewalling this investigation, after the case is thoroughly reviewed,” said the Home Secretary, “I rather doubt it will be ‘Inspector’ much longer.” 

Peaslin went pale.

“Now then,” said the Prime Minister, “Inspector Abernathy, perhaps you could tell us…”

Madame Vastra murmured to Colonel Lethbridge “It’s time for me to find Jenny,” she said. 

“And make sure the Bank of England is safe?” said the Colonel.

“That too,” Vastra agreed solemnly.

“My carriage is nearby; we’ll go together. The Prime Minister will want a report.”

***  
Madame Vastra and Colonel Lethbridge found the excitement winding down and the fire brigade packing up when they arrived at the bank. 

Keegan was being bundled into jail cart, shouting ‘God Save Ireland!’ and about how the Fenians would be back. He caught sight of Madame Vastra and half-snarled, “It was a fine plan, and it would have worked too, if it hadn’t been for you and your meddling maid!” Everyone was quite happy to see the cart rumble away towards Newgate Prison. 

Madame Vastra took Jenny aside and told her to give a summary report. Jenny simply said, “Keegan’s caught, the clock’s stopped and...” 

The Guard officer arrived. “The fire brigade reports that the sacks are thoroughly soaked and can be safely moved,” he reported. “We’ll take them back to the Tower and dispose of them there.” There were murmurs of relief all around.

“... and the plot’s pretty much all washed up,” finished Jenny. “How about you?”

While Vastra gave Jenny a slightly longer summary of the incident at Whitehall, Private Taylor said, “Hey Lootenant, got a question for you.” At the officer’s nod, Taylor continued, “When you had Keegan in your sights, and the banker gent and I were out of the way… Why didn’t you shoot him?” Taylor asked. “He would have happily blown all of us to Kingdom come! Why didn’t you just kill him?”

The Guard Lieutenant looked appalled. “My good man, he had to be given the chance to surrender of course! Otherwise it’s not just not Cricket!” 

And about then, Taylor heard Jenny trying to explain to Madame Vastra why she should not have hit Corcoran while his hands were tied, despite the crude remark. Vastra and Taylor are equally befuddled by these ideas. 

Taylor just shut his eyes and shook his head. “You English,” he said. “You make no sense. How in blazes did you end up ruling half the world?” 

The others just shook their heads at the American’s inability to understand civilized behaviour.

“What’s Cricket, anyway?” Taylor asked Madame Vastra. 

“Hell if I know,” replied Vastra.

***

They all met later that morning in the office of the Governor of the Bank of England. Mr Thackeray introduced Constable Palmer to the Governor and Deputy Governor of the Bank of England who thanked him for his bravery and for saving so many lives, and introduced John Taylor to Mr Dawes for saving Abernathy’s life. Jenny stayed quiet while the men fussed at each other. Abernathy and Taylor had already quietly thanked Jenny for saving the bank and their own lives. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be the centre of attention among all the noise.

But she wasn’t entirely forgotten. Constable Palmer quietly thanked her for the sketch as he returned her notebook, and Mr Taylor thanked her for remembering his little tune. Then Mr Abernathy and Mr Parker where there chatting with her, and that was nice as well.

***

“From America, are you, sir?” Constable Palmer asked. He wasn’t sure he’d met an American before. 

Taylor nodded offhandedly, still watching Jenny, Thackeray and Parker.

Palmer frowned, looking closely at him.

“Handy you knew how to do that... sir.” Americans didn’t usually like the British. Everyone knew they liked the French and Germans better. And there were a lot of Irish-American troublemakers about these days. What was this fellow doing in London?

The American in question glanced up at the young constable beside him. “I have many skills,” he said quietly and then Taylor suddenly grinned. “Let me know if you’d like a demonstration of other types of bomb disposal sometime, Constable. You and your police department, of course! Any friend of Jenny’s is pretty much a friend of mine.”

Despite himself, Palmer nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the American, but if the fellow knew any more about how to render these infernal devices harmless, he could certainly work with him.

At least for now.

***

When it was done, Dawes and Abernathy escorted Madame Vastra and Jenny back to the bank’s main entrance on Threadneedle Street. There a much-chastised young cabby was waiting to drive them back to Waterloo station and then send them back to Wimbledon in a First Class railway carriage, compliments for Her Majesty’s government. They still had a few more days of their holiday to enjoy (and two chests full of gold and banknotes to retrieve safely.)

Abernathy was chatting quietly with Jenny about the merits of lawn tennis versus rifle matches, while Mr Dawes and Madame Vastra compared final notes on catching the bombers.

“I do have one question,” said Mr Dawes as they approached the Great Hall. “I thought you said you sent Jenny to deliver a message to the police, not to the bank?”

Vastra shook her head. “I did. It seems that when the men were ‘dawdling’ she decided to show initiative and find Constable Palmer herself. That, in turn, took her to the vicinity of the bank.” 

It had never occurred to Madame Vastra to tell Jenny to stay away from the Bank of England. To keep away from bombs or Fenians or any other form of danger that might present itself. To stay safe. It wasn’t an idea that either she or Jenny would even consider.

Vastra continued, “I will, of course, speak with her about overstepping her instructions.” The little monkey would even listen earnestly; Vastra had no doubt about that. And then most likely would proceed to make any independent decisions that a situation might warrant. Hopefully, none of them would get her killed. 

“I see,” said Mr Dawes with a wry smile. “Yes, very wise. We’ll give Jenny a bit more time before sending her off to save the British Empire, shall we?”

“Agreed” replied Madame Vastra.

Neither Vastra nor Dawes realized just how soon that might well be…


	12. Movin' On Up - Part 7 - Epilogues and Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Epilogues (and the Author's Notes!)

Epilogue 1 - Whitehall - Saturday July 30, 1881

Saturday was a working half-day at both Whitehall and the Horse Guards. So Saturday morning found Colonel Lethbridge with the Home Secretary Sir William Vernon Harcourt and the Earl of Granville, the Foreign Secretary, sorting through the latest reports on the thwarted bombings .

Colonel Lethbridge shook his head as he reviewed Inspector Abernathy’s and Constable Palmer’s reports, as well as a lengthy note from Vastra. “It seems I owe my new acquaintance an apology. Although I was ready to back up Sergeant Parker testimony, I admit that I had some doubt as to Madame Vastra’s reliability. But she stuck with the investigation, and no one can argue with her results!”

Sir William frowned. “But surely Inspector Abernathy solved the case?”

The Earl of Granville shook his head. “I know it’s tempting, but it doesn’t do to underestimate the ladies. They can be surprising. My late American fiance certainly was.” 

Sir William was ready to argue, but then paused a moment. “Madame Vastra… I’ve heard that name.” He searched his memory for a minute. “Ah, yes! Dawes mentioned her during the Masked Lady case. Something about rescuing ledgers that helped draw him into the case...”

“The lady does seem to have a… talent for being at the right place at the right time,” agreed Lethbridge, reading some of the details in Abernathy’s report.

“Have we discovered who the officer was yet?” asked the Earl.

“Not yet sir. Corcoran said the carriage belonged to ‘Major Shaw.’ However, no officer of that name was anywhere in the area. And the carriage was reported as stolen to the police first thing yesterday morning. By a reputable solicitor. But when we do find out who the officer was, I’ll make sure he’s quietly cashiered.” Lethbridge finished with a scowl.

“Very well,” said the Home Secretary. “I’ll leave it in your hands. Make sure it’s tied up well is all I ask. And for Heaven’s sake, try and keep the Duke of Cambridge from interfering, will you?”

“Yes, Sir William.”

“Now about the situation in Egypt we discussed last week,” said the Earl. “There`s been a…rather unconventional complication. That new group of fellows that Her Majesty decided to put together… well, the fools may have bitten off more than they can chew.”

Lethbridge kept his face still, while inwardly seething. Her Majesty had shown some odd quirks ever since she’d met up with that damn gilhlie John Brown. Her creation of a group of half-witted ‘scientists’ called the Torchwood Institute was the latest mad start. Lethbridge, like many of the men who quietly tried to keep the ship of state known as the British Empire on something resembling an even keel found the idea of enemies from the sky ludicrous, and privately hoped that Her Majesty was not becoming as mad as her grandfather King George the Third!

“Now what’s the matter?” he asked mildly. “Do they imagine they’re being chased by werewolves again? Or is it a vampire this time, perhaps the one that Le Fanu fellow wrote about?”

“No Colonel. They claim that a Mummy is after them.”

There was a long pause…

“I beg your pardon, Milord?” asked the Colonel.

“Yes, I know it sounds daft. I’m not convinced that they haven’t been sneaking whiskey into Egypt and getting blind drunk despite the laws against alcohol. Personally, I’m in favour of letting them take their medicine, but the situation in Egypt in general is rather unstable, with Colonel Urabi stirring things up amongst the natives.”

Sir William shook his head. “It’s fussing over nothing. I’ve lent Lord Granville one of my best men to go and have a look. He’ll sort them out. Now I need to beg leave of you gentlemen, I have another meeting to attend…”

They saw the Home Secretary off. When he was gone Colonel Lethbridge looked thoughtful for a long moment, then smiled thinly. “If the situation in Egypt is ‘unconventional’, and Sir William’s chap can’t do much, then I believe we know just the person to investigate it.” 

The Earl frowned a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Yes. And likely do something about it as well…”

***  
***  
Epilogue 2 - Taylor at the American Legation (Sunday July 31, 1881)

“The Secretary will see you now.” 

I thanked Williams, the legation butler; we’d hit it off when I found out he’d been a corporal with the one of the Colored Troop regiments at the Siege of Petersburg. Anyone who lived through that hell, especially that disaster at the Crater, was all right by me. Didn’t hurt that for such a giant of a man, he could move like a cat. Made me wonder what other ‘duties’ Mr Lowell assigned him to, safeguarding the interests of the United States of America in the capital city of our old enemies, the British Empire.

Mr Hopkins, the first Secretary for the legation, was waiting for me in the study. Not as formal as some of the rooms, better for enjoying a drink and a smoke.

“Good evening, Mr Secretary. Any new word on the President?” 

“There seems to be some hope.” Mr Hopkins replied. “There’s talk of Alexander Bell using a metal detector to locate the second bullet.” He sounded doubtful. “But there’s been a lot of fool nonsense as well. The English doctors I’ve talked to at some of our events keep going on about ‘germs’ and some fellow called Lister. They seem convinced that the President’s being harmed by something we can’t see. There’s talk of moving him to somewhere with better air though, that might help. It’s just… well… it’s in God’s hands.”

I shrugged. “Not my area of knowledge, I’m sorry to say. I can kill people; and I can make friends with people. I can’t heal ‘em. Don’t know many folks who can do all three.”

“Your last visit we talked about the Rifle Matches. You mentioned some concerns about radicals targeting Whitehall. Anything come of that?”

“America’s name been kept out of it. This time around.” I shook my head. “Those ‘chemical schools’ in New York though, they’re causing trouble.”

“That’s a problem for the British, not for us.” Mr Howell shot me a questioning look. “What about this Scotland Yard fellow I’m hearing muttering about? Abernathy? Damn silly name! But word is he brought down some bombers?”

I’m just about to put him right, when I have enough sense to keep my trap shut for a moment. I’m near certain that Madame Vastra had more to do with solving the case than Inspector Abernathy. Mr Lowell and Mr Hopkin through, there’s no chance they’d believe a woman could be that smart.

‘Course they never worked with Kate Warne of Pinkerton’s either.

“There might be more to it,” I hedge. “I heard another inspector botched up the investigation; Abernathy might have just got lucky.” 

Or had some help. Think I’ll keep an eye on Madame Vastra. Not sure yet if she might be an ally or a threat. I’d rather have her on our side though.

It’s not likely that she’d have cause to interfere with American secrets.

Or with mine.

Can’t be too careful though.

And besides; Jenny as cute as a button and as brave as Deborah Sampson.

It’s scary how much she reminds me…

Of a girl I knew…

When I was her age...

***  
***

Epilogue 3 - Thirteen Paternoster Row. (Monday August 1, 1881)

On Monday August 1, Mr Parker brought Jenny and Madame Vastra back from Wimbledon by carriage, and delivered them to Madame’s new house on Paternoster Row. They drove up to a townhouse, nestled near the end of a row, with a freshly painted deep blue door. The estate agent for the house was there to greet them and hand over the keys. He told Madame Vastra that the house had been cleaned, and fresh curtains, mattresses and sheets provided, as had been agreed. Jenny was pleased to hear that Mr Thackeray had insisted on this when Madame had signed the lease. The agent then gave them a tour of the house, while Parker and his assistant brought up their trunks. The agent had also brought two strong young men ‘to help move things about.’ As it turned out, it was a wise idea.

The house had a narrow front but was long, narrow and tall, fitting a great number of rooms into what looked on the street to be a very small space. As they were exploring, Jenny joked that it was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. At that moment, and without realizing it, Madame Vastra decided to do her best to keep Jenny with her forever.

The house was filled with furniture. Neither Vastra nor Jenny could figure out just WHY there was so much of it. “Goodness, the man was a pack-rat!” said Jenny. “There’s more tables and chairs in here than in all the flats in Beer Lane!”

They spent a good part that first day just deciding what needed to be moved into storage. Eventually they reached what the agent said was the Family Suite. It included the bedroom, a small separate wardrobe, a dressing room, a bathroom and a water closet. Madame Vastra promptly claimed it as her room.

Vastra could see the bed, but there were also a great many chairs in the room, none of which seemed to face the same direction as the others. Several of the chairs had books piled on them. Vastra lifted one and read the title aloud, “A Theory of Moral Sentiment…” She tossed it back on the pile. “This is ridiculous! Jenny, why do A.. your people need so many places to sit?”

“No idea, ma’am. Never seen this many chairs together, aside from that meeting room for the tournament t’other week.”

“Very well. Give me a moment and I’ll choose two that look comfortable. We’ll leave one here, near the window; I will use it for reading. The other can go in the dressing room.. You may take one or two to your room, when we decide where it is, for the same purpose. All the rest can go into storage in the attic.” 

To Madame Vastra’s surprise, there seemed to be some question about where Jenny should sleep. The agent showed them the fourth floor (Vastra thought he’d miscounted; surely this was the fifth or sixth floor in the building, including the basement?) There was a room for two maids, a housekeeper’s room, a room for the Lady’s Maid and a nursery where the agent said ‘the family children and a nanny’ would sleep, all in the attic. Vastra thought all those rooms were too far away from her room for Jenny to be bothered with, and they were small and stuffy as well. Vastra loved the heat, but the lack of air made the rooms unpleasant even for her. 

In the basement there were quarters for the butler and the footmen, which so far as Vastra could understand the description, were tall ‘handsome’ apes who opened doors and carried packages while leaving all the real work to the females and were paid more to do less than the maids.  
Jenny looked around the basement. "If you don’t like me being in the attic, I could take the men’s room here? Then I could hear the upstairs rooms’ bells in the servant’s hall." Jenny pointed to the row of bells, numbered and labelled so the servants knew which room they were being summoned to.

"Only if you need a nap during the day, or in the summer heat. You are NOT sleeping in the basement year round! I’d only see you at practice time!” Vastra shook her head beneath her veil. “This is foolish. You will sleep in the other room on that same floor as me.”

“Ma’am, the agent said as that was the guest suite.” Jenny pointed out. “It’s too fancy for me.”

“Nonsense. If it makes you feel better, you may temporarily give it up if we have guests. But for now, I want you close enough that I can call you, or you can call for me if needed.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of George and one of his friends, bringing groceries from Mrs Crawford and meat from their butcher. Jenny checked the orders, signed the bills, and stowed away the food in the pantry and the larder.

While she was working, Jenny saw Madame Vastra head towards the rear of the basement, her tall form filling the narrow passage. Jenny frowned; the ceilings down here were lower than the ones upstairs. There was enough room to be comfortable, but they wouldn’t be able to practice single-stick down here. And the other rooms seemed too fancy. Well, Madame would likely have an idea or two; Jenny doubted that she’d have leased the house otherwise.

“Happy we don’t have any black beetles in the kitchen.” Jenny said when she re-joined the adults once she was done. “Your people done a nice job cleanin’ the place up for us!” she told the Estate Agent. “Right thankful for it, I am!”

“Black beetles? Are they tasty?” Madame Vastra asked her quietly, after they’d bid the men goodbye and closed the front door.

Jenny gave her a fondly exasperated glance. “Never ate one, ma’am. Was never that hungry. If we ever catch one, you’ll just have to try one and let me know.”

***

In the early evening, Jenny changed into her shirt and trousers, picked up her single stick and staff and met Madame in the kitchen as ordered. Madame led Jenny past the small servant’s hall to the rear stairs in the basement, beyond which were the laundry room, the bedroom for the footmen, and the vault for the dustbins. They took the stairs up to the fenced in terrace behind the house. There was another building here, and Vastra produced the key, opened the door, and stepped inside.

“This is our Coach House,”Vastra explained. “But as we seem to be happy with Mr Parker and his cabbies, I thought that instead of keeping horses and carriages, it would do nicely for our studies in the warrior arts.” She turned up the gaslights as she spoke, and Jenny just stood there, stunned.

The room was huge, at least to Jenny’s eyes; almost as big as the dining room in the house. There was lots of room to swing their swords, and even Jenny’s broom-handle staff. There were wooden blinds on the windows, so they could practice in private, or let in lots of light. 

“This room is usually the stables. However I told them to dismantle the loose box, and store it in the carriage room next door, to clear the floor space.” Vastra continued. She glanced over at where Jenny was still standing by the door. “What do you think?” 

“Oh this is smashing!” Jenny finally said, grinning hugely. “We won’t be tripping over ourselves every three steps anymore!”

“Yes, and the building’s walls and ceilings are quite strong. I want to use that to teach you other skills that may be useful, such as climbing and abseiling. And of course, now that we have room, we can also work on some hand-to-hand techniques as well.”

“What’s ab-sling?”

“Abseiling is using a rope to descend from a high place to a lower one safely. I read an article that mentioned it the other day; your people consider it a very new technique, although of course our warriors perfected the art long ago.”

“‘Course they did,” said Jenny with a smile. She was in far too good a mood to even roll her eyes at Madame’s pride. They could practice any time they liked, summer or winter, rain or shine. This was going to be so much fun!

“Well then,” said Madame Vastra as she waved Jenny to take up her position for the ‘salute.’ “Here we go!” 

Side by side, they ran through increasingly complex Silurian sword forms. Vastra was delighted. They had lots of room, plenty of place to store and prepare food, and Jenny was happy. So long as the house was warm in the winter and the roof didn’t leak, what more could they possible want? 

***

Despite the heavy work they’d done during the day, the lively workout they’d had in the coach house, and the late hour they’d gone to bed, Vastra couldn’t fall asleep. Of course, normally she needed less sleep than a human during the summer months. But tonight she actually felt tired, yet restless at the same time. She wanted to sleep, at least for a few hours. All she could do though was twist and turn in her new bed.

The bed itself was fine, and the room, while deliciously warm, wasn’t stifling. So what was the problem?

She was on the verge of getting up and simply reading for a while, when she heard a slight squeak from the door. Immediately she tensed, a trained warrior reacting to a possible attack. She was lying on her side, facing away from it, so she couldn’t see the doorway, but with a quick flick of her tongue, she could taste Jenny’s scent in the air. Vastra stayed still, maintain attach readiness, but all she heard were Jenny’s bare feet padding across the floor, and then a squeaking sound which Vastra suddenly realized was coming from the large chair they’d left between the window and the empty fireplace. She waited but Jenny didn’t move again. Was the human preparing to attack? Vastra scoffed at herself; if anything Jenny was even more tired than she was. So why was the young human here? Finally Vastra decided to casually roll over and look with half-closed eyes, feigning sleep.

Jenny wasn’t exactly sitting in the chair, instead her legs were draped across one arm of the chair, and her head rested near the opposite edge of the back. Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look very comfortable. 

“What are you doing?” asked Vastra in her normal voice. Jenny practically jumped straight out of the chair in surprise, and then remained on her feet, almost at ‘attention.’ 

“Ah, well, you see, ma’am… my room’s just grand and the bed’s nice and everything, but well, I’ve never really had me own place to sleep alone before. I keep… hearing things. Know it’s just the house, or out on the roadway or back in the lane, but the only time I’ve slept by myself was on the streets, and I learned pretty quick to keep my ears open. Makes for good survival, but bad sleeping, you see.” Jenny shrugged. “Thought if I was in the chair, I’d know you’re in the same room, so maybe I could get some rest. Very sorry to disturb you…” She started edging towards the door.

Vastra frowned but nodded. “That makes sense. The first night in a new place can sometimes be unsettling for one so young.” She motioned Jenny to come closer. “Take your side of the mattress for tonight.” Jenny nodded eagerly and almost jumped onto the bed.

‘Well,’ thought Vastra as her young human curled up under the light covers, ‘hopefully my own restlessness won’t keep her awake.’ She listened to Jenny’s breathing quickly even out, and smiled. It amused her how effortlessly Jenny was reassured that she was safe. If only all problems were solved so simply. She sighed; for an ancient lizard such as herself, there would be no such easy rest, more than likely she’d be away most of the night, guarding against any possible intruders… still, it wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes for a bit…

Each now reassured that the other was safe and close by, within minutes both the young human and her ancient lizard were sound asleep.

END

 

Next Story: Guy Fawkes Eve brings deadly visitors to London; a stranded Doctor and his lock-picking companion are granted refuge by Jenny at 13 Paternoster Row; and in Egypt the Foreign Office has handed Madame Vastra a Mummy Case…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> Jenny and the locks and keys: that’s based on personal experience. Don’t buy cheap locks; too many other keys will easily open them. 
> 
> The Fenian Dynamite campaign of 1881 - 1885: Between Early January 1881 and the end of January 1885, approximately 25 bombs were planted by Fenians in various cities England and Scotland, many of them in London. Several caused deaths and serious injuries, others were discovered and defused before they could explode. The London Underground was attacked several times, as was the Mansion House. The First Irish Home Rule Bill was introduced in the House of Commons but was defeated by 30 votes and was never introduced in the House of Lords. In 1893 the Second Irish Home Rule Bill was passed the House of Commons, but was defeated in the House of Lords. 
> 
> A child’s catapult in the UK is known as a slingshot in North America.
> 
> “A shilling for you and Parker, and 3 pence for Mr Taylor.” - Within four miles of Charing Cross, the rate for a cab at this time was a shilling for the first mile. Two people were allowed to ride for that fare. An extra adult was 6 pence, a child under ten was charged half-fare, or 3 pence. Hence Taylor’s grumbling.
> 
> The Seth E. Thomas Clock Company, of the United States produced the first practical, mass-produced alarm-clock in 1876. This mechanical, hand-wound clock had an alarm-mechanism that could be set to any time. However, on 28 October of that year a time-delayed bomb exploded in the luggage carriage of the express train from Philadelphia to Jersey City. Bearing remarkable resemblances to a later Fenian bomb at London’s Victoria Station (in 1884,) the device was arranged with a pistol tied to clockwork which, upon reaching a set time, discharged the pistol and detonated the bomb. 
> 
> The British Foreign Secretary, Lord Granville was engaged in 1864 to an envoy and former spy from the Confederate States of America, Rose O'Neal Greenhow. Shortly after their engagement she attempted to return to the CSA, but drowned while trying to escape interception by a US blockade ship during the American Civil War. 
> 
> Mr James Russell Lowell, was the United States Minister at London and Mr William J(ones) Hopkin was first secretary (1876 – 1886) at the time of ‘Movin’ on Up.’
> 
> Abseling (from German abseilen, meaning "to rope down"), also called rappelling, is the controlled descent down a rock face using a rope. Jean Charlet-Straton, from Chamonix, France originally devised the abseil method of roping down in 1876. Of course, Vastra’s people used it long before then, or so she claims.
> 
> The Green Jackets - From 1948 to 1968 the Rifle Regiments of the British Army were administered under the name The Green Jackets. From 1966 to 2007 they were amalgamated into “The Royal Green Jackets.” After 2007 they were became part of the Light Division. The ‘Green Jackets’ as used in the Dragon’s Heart series in the 1880’s, while inspired by the Rifle regiments, are a rifle club comprised of sharpshooters (snipers in modern terms) of several nationalities. So far we have American, English, Canadian and Scottish. Some of the others may surprise you in the future.
> 
> I’m using a floor plan found at http://www.victorianlondon.org/houses/townhouse-Belgravian.gif  
> to describe 13 Paternoster Row, with some modifications. It appears that at least two, and possibly more houses in and around Cardiff, Wales have been used as filming locations for the Paternoster scenes in ‘Doctor Who’, so it’s a bit challenging to sort out the actual layout of the house!
> 
> The title of this story ‘Movin’ on Up’ comes from the theme song of the long-running American sitcom ‘The Jeffersons.’ (1975 - 1985) Youtube has a video, or course. Catchy tune, great singing. And one of the characters in the show was named ‘Jenny’ as well…
> 
> And finally… this story was originally planned as three short stories: ‘Pretty Clever’, ‘Coming Clean’ and ‘Moving on Up.’ I thought three stories would string things out too long, so I combined them in one story to keep the stories from dragging on too long. Yes, I know that didn’t work out: go ahead and laugh it up. 
> 
> If I ever get a bright idea like that again, I’ll announce it on Tumblr, and you can all pile on and remind me that this story took almost two years to finish and ‘talk’ me out of making such a foolish mistake ever again.


End file.
